


Fate/Long Night

by der_Reichtangle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel), Game of Thrones (TV), fate/
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama, Fantasy, Gen, Magic, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-05-29 01:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 69,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6352969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_Reichtangle/pseuds/der_Reichtangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven were the Servants||Champions, and seven were their Masters||Masters, beckoned forth by the coming War||Trial, in the death throes of a tainted God. One was the Holy Grail||Star, which seven pairs sought, for which seven pairs fought… and one was a||The Hero, who just wanted to save the world from the coming night...       [Fate/Stay Night || A Song of Ice and Fire]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angra Manyu

The source of all evil in the world felt distraught.

His rebirth had been interrupted by the bright light wielded by the last Servant of the Sword. Her Master had become aware of his impeding return and so had ordered his puppet to shatter the prize. His cocoon broken, his body spilled onto the world without form, without purpose, consuming life wantonly.

The source of all evil in the world felt weak.

He could not be wholly destroyed however, not by an Heroic Spirit he himself had sent forth. His soul had been weaved into the essence of the Grail long before, corrupting its contents fully. His strength would, given time, return he was certain. The next iteration of Heaven's Feel wouldn't be far off. He would not be denied a second time.

But the weakness lingered instead... something felt wrong. _Wrong._

The source of all evil in the world felt wrong.

Something else was creeping in...

Consuming...

Usurping...

Freezing...

_Cold... so cold..._

The source of all evil in the world felt fear.

He could not stop it. He had the entire power of the Holy Grail at his disposal, but he could not stop it. The very core of his essence was being devoured, much like a forlorn prey having its insides feasted upon by its killer.

Torn asunder... Mutilated...

Ravaged manifold... Defiled...

Utterly broken... Ruined...

...his conscious began to unravel, gradually reverting back to that of the simple child tasked by the people of his village to burden all of their hatred, to forever carry all the evils of the world within him, to absolve them of their sins. So small, so insignificant, so frail...

The source of all evil in the world felt he was dying.

 _Dying_...

How could the Grail die!?

He screamed.

How could evil itself die!?

He trashed.

How could _he_ die!?

He refused.

 _HOW!?_ _HOW!? HOW!? HOW!? HOW!? HOW!? HOW!? HOW!? HOW!? HOW!? HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_ _HOW!?_

The Grail's contents boiled and stirred, an ultimately futile attempt to shake off the unrelenting and inescapable entropy. The hopeless struggle of a being that could not accept this fate.

The source of all evil in the world knew these were his last moments.

Angra Manyu, known once as the Servant Avenger and now reduced to a disjointed assortment of thoughts, pleaded as he had done in a bygone age. When a mere mortal boy pleaded to the World to become the personification of all its evils. He yet held some sway. He was the embodiment of the tool of which miracles could be granted still. And so he beseeched it.

He cast his desire right as the black mud within froze solid.

_Make it stop..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how to start things differently? Let's kill off the main villain right off the bat why not?
> 
> I would be lying if I said I wasn't inspired by The Infamous Man's wonderfully hilarious take of the Fourth Grail War (check out Fate Zero Sense if you haven't yet) and its sequel, sadly canceled as I'm writing this. This particular take of mine stems mostly for my love of Martin's work, the TV adaptation that got me interested in it, and the general concept behind the Fate series and the Nasuverse. (GRRM's series is actually the first series of books I've ever got myself fully invested on, even moreso seeing that my preference lies mainly in sci-fi not in fantasy, low or high.)
> 
> The idea for the crossover cropped up and I began writing some few lines of dialogue here and there, at random intervals of time. Eventually, in the midst of a hefty writer's block on my ongoing master thesis, I tied everything together and spruced it up a bit, mostly to keep myself moderately busy. So… here you have it. The fruits of a college senior's procrastination.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.
> 
> (Also, it goes without saying that all licenses this work is based on are the property of their respective owners. I claim nothing.)


	2. Rin

_Das Material ist aus Silber und Eisen. Der Grundstein ist aus Stein und dem Großherzog des Vertrag. Der Ahn ist mein großer Meister Schweinorg._  
_Schutz gegen einen heftigen Wind. Schließ alle Tore, geh aus der Krone, zirkulier die Gabelung nach dem König._  
_Füll, füll, füll, füll, füll._  
_Es wird fünfmal wiederholt._  
_Nur ist es die volle Zeit gebrochen._  
_－_ _Satz._ __  
_Du überläßt alles mir, mein Schicksal überläßt alles deinem Schwert._ __  
_Das basiert auf dem Gral, antwort wenn du diesem Willen und diesem Vernunftgrund folgst._ __  
_Liegt das Gelübde hier. Ich bin die Güte der ganzen Welt. Ich bin das Böse der ganzen Welt._ _  
_ _Du bist der Himmel mit dreien Wortseelen. Komm, aus dem Kreis der Unterdrückung, der Schutzgeist der Balkenwaage_ _－_ _!_

The hundred and eighteen word incantation still reverberated inside Tohsaka Rin's mind. She had silently recited it countless times over the past ten years, amid her exhaustive studies and the other equally vital arduous arrangements. An entire decade's worth of toil, all for one ephemeral moment that would forever define the rest of her life. Her crowning achievement as a magus.

And of course she had to screw it up.

Despite taking the utmost care to ensure that the summoning ritual would go off without a hitch, a single tiny misstep caused her carefully laid plans to collapse like a house of cards. An increasingly exasperating flaw in her otherwise spotless character as a magus, the young head of the Tohsaka family cursed her bad luck for it rearing its ugly head today of all days. Normally, it wouldn't be that much of an issue, but with something so sensible as the her entry into the Holy Grail War, the kind of oversight she committed, small as it was, quite possibly may have spelled disaster for her efforts.

However, awry as her attempt went, it had at least produced a tangible result, judging by the commotion she heard coming from above ground. Sprinting from the basement where she had conducted the (botched) ritual, she made her way to the main sitting room of the expansive family manor, the epicenter of all the chaos. What she found there was appalling.

Thick white dust covered the air, while most of the room's furniture lied broken on the floor, splintered into large chunks of wood, along with countless broken glass shards from the shattered windows and chandelier. But most glaring was the massive circular hole in the ceiling, where more debris fell through from the attic.

It was easy to discern that something had crashed into the house, in all likelihood as a result of her miscalculation, and indeed, comfortably sitting in the collapsed sofa in the midst of all that destruction, was the end result of her endeavor.

"Gods preserve me, that was quite an entrance I had." — the man remarked, surveying the scene around him before turning his attention to Rin — "I take it you're the sorceress who's responsible for my summoning?"

"Yes." — she answered with some difficulty. It wasn't just the fact she was addressing an Heroic Spirit, her Servant. It was the stark contrast between the austerity of his facial features and the merriment in his voice that caused more apprehension on her behalf.

"50 feet into the air?" — he added raising one of his eyebrows.

"...yes." — she once more asserted herself, despite the perceived jab.

"Hmm..." — she felt his deep gray eyes upon her, studying her.

Acting on instinct, Rin also took the time to observe what precisely she had brought into this world. Auburn hair, cut short and messy, atop a stern (but still handsome) countenance and a stocky physique. Clad from head to toe in darken leather padded with fur in various shades of grey, save for his exposed right arm, and a full length pelt cloak of the latter material. The Servant had an overall wild look to him, coming off to her almost as animalistic, not helped by the fact that he was leering her in a manner similar to that of a predator to its prey.

"...you're a looker at the very least." — he further commented with a resigned tone.

"E-Excuse me!?" — Rin shouted, instantly shaking out of her trance — "What is that suppose to mean!?"

"Well, pardon me for doubting the abilities of a sorceress who couldn't even complete the binding ritual properly." — the Servant sneered — "You are aware that I was suppose to appear in front of you, right?"

"I'll have you know it was a minor detail that I happen to overlook in the heat of the moment. Besides, the fact I managed to summon a Servant is prove enough of my aptitude as a magus." — she argued in her defense.

"If anything, it just proves that you're lucky." — he retorted — "Any person can end up accidentally summoning an Heroic Spirit, even he or she is one of the regular, non-magic wielding folk. One's abilities with the arcane merely increase the odds."

"True..." — her Father's files did mentioned that Caster's master in the previous war had no magic circuits whatsoever — "...but I'll have you know that you're talking with the head of the Tohsaka family, the caretakers of grounds for the Holy Grail War and, as of this moment, your Master until the end of this War! You'll acknowledge me as such!"

"And why should I?" — he questioned with unequivocal defiance.

"I was the one who summoned you here! See!" — she rolled up her sleeve to show him the command spells tattooed in the skin of her arm — "I bear the brand! One that signifies our bond as Master and Servant! I was chosen by the Grail as a participant!"

"Again I ask... and? That mark of yours doesn't necessarily set anything in stone, you know. Let us say, for instance, that I kill you, which by the way I can do long before you even have a chance to use one of those spells to stop me. After that, I could always find a Master more to my liking. More experienced..." — his cheery tone vanished all of a sudden, sending chills through Rin's spine — "...less naive."

"...y-you can't..."

"Oh?" — he mused mockingly as he vanished and reappeared in front of her, placing his hand on her left shoulder before she could even react — "Can't I now?"

"..." — she felt his icy grasp on her shoulder, clenching harder as if he was about to tear her arm of. The cold intent stamped on his face certainly seem to indicate he was about to do so... until it melted away into a cocky smirk, as the Servant shook her shoulder playfully.

"Fortunately for you, I'm not the kind of man to abandon someone out of my own convenience, even if they prove to be an handicap later down the road. So I'll stick by your side." — he knelled, his hand running down her arm until it reached hers — "I shall be your Champion for the coming Trial, Master."

 _Does this fool wish to give me a heart attack? Perhaps he is just testing my resilience?_ She pondered, nearly losing her composure from the rush of relief that poured through her body.

"Which of the Servants are you?" — she inquired now that the contract between the two had, at long last, been established.

"I am that of the Maiden, innocent and pure."

_What!?_

Rin wanted to shout, but her voice failed to materialized. There wasn't a hint of mockery or guile in his voice. It was an honest answer, which only made it all the more confusing. Her expression was left in a daze, something her Servant was quick to notice.

"Mistress of the Wilds?"

Nope.

"Firedaughter?"

Nada.

"A Thousand and One Skins?"

Zilch.

"She who dances under the starry moonlight?"

Diddly.

None of those alias meant anything to Rin, and she could not for the life of her understand what they had to do with her Servant, who was undoubtedly a man... _right?_

"Umm... the one with the ivory bow and arrow?" — he threw a vaguer description into the air in the hopes of soliciting a response from his Master.

"So in other words, you're Archer?" — she finally responded.

"Given her choice of weapon, that would indeed make her one. I guess you can call me that if you so wish. The Archer's."

"Then why didn't you said so to begin with!?" — she fumed.

"One would assume that you would recognize her first by one of her epithets, not by what she likes to carry around. My mistake." — _Is he still messing with me?_ _Just what on earth is he talking about?_ Rin thought amidst her exasperation — "You don't seem content though."

"Of course I'm not happy with it! I made certain I was to summon Saber, the Knight of the Sword!" — in a welcome change, this time it was Archer who felt indignant by the other's words.

"Gods, it always the same with you, women." — he noted with poorly concealed resentment — "You all want some big, hunky, sparkly sword waver that can double as a bed warmer whenever you feel like it. I'll have you know that I'm perfectly capable of satisfying such desires should the need ever arise."

"It's not because of that, you meandering idiot!" — she shot back at him, mildly embarrassed by her Servant's perverted misinterpretation — "I aimed to summon a Saber because their class is the strongest of all the seven and the most befitting a magus of my pedigree."

"Humbleness is not one of your strongest suits is it?" — his Master response came in the form of an annoyed glare, her default expression Archer was starting to believe — "Anyway, if that is your main concern, you should not trifle yourself. I'm worth more than any of those Andal bucket head types south of the Neck."

"South of the Neck? Is that a place of sorts?" — she asked, once more intrigued Archer's terminology.

"Yes, Westeros." — to Rin's surprise, he appeared to be genuinely shocked by her lack of recognition — "The bottom half of it to be more precise. Your knowledge of geography is sorely inadequate, Master."

"I'm well-coursed in those matters, all have you know! Tell me, where is this... Westeros?"

"West of the Narrow Sea. North of the Summer Sea. East of the Sunset S..." — he began enumerating before she stopped him.

"I'm not familiar with any of those names."

"Maybe your people have different designations for them." — one possibility, Rin assumed — "Where are we exactly?"

"Fuyuki, Japan."

"Doesn't ring a bell either."

"How do you not know the grounds where the Holy Grail War occurs!?" — again she could tell he wasn't lying. Her Servant genuinely didn't know where he was.

"The same reason you don't know the place where my legend takes place?" — Archer snarked back, much to her accruing annoyance — "I feel like we're accomplishing little in terms of understanding one another with all of this back and forth, Master. Best we find some common ground first and foremost."

"Fine then!" — she relented — "Who are you exactly? Let us start with that. I take it you know that much at least."

"You didn't screw up _that_ badly."

/\

\/

The library in the Tohsaka manor was a vast vault of knowledge, littered with a myriad tomes and volumes of equally numerous sources, all collected and safeguarded by her ancestors since times immemorial. The material ranged from what one could find in a regular library to the ancient, and potentially dangerous, forbidden content that had elevated her family into one of the more prominent names within the realm of the magi. Rin had dedicated the last couple of hours perusing over the library's extensive historical chronicles, each detailing the lives and feats of practically every legendary hero that has ever lived. However, in spite of her efforts, none of details she had solicited from Archer matched that of any of the potential candidates in the Throne of Heroes. Not even his goddamn name brought her closer to figuring out who he was.

None of it didn't bode well. A Servant's power is largely dependent of how well know his or her legend is in the wider folklore. In layman terms, the more famous, the better. Being unable to discern who her Servant was by name alone was already a bad sign. Being unable to find any information about him in the thousand books stored within the library, of which there were enough to keep her occupied for her whole life if she decided to study it all in depth, signaled yet another disaster.

Exhausted by the day's events, she decided she had enough and retired for the night, leaving Archer alone to his devices. At Kirei's insistence ( _damn him_ ), she was compelled to conducted the ritual in the middle of the week so she still had to attend Homurahara Academy in the morning, much to her regret. The clock on the Wall was about to strike four, indicating that she would only have three hour of sleep, max. Immersed in her research, Rin now remembered that she had also forgot to inform the fake priest that another Master had joined this War, nor did she bother to call him that late. Other pressing matters included fixing the hole and the mess Archer had left in the sitting room by his crashing entrance. She contemplated skipping school that day, but she had worked tirelessly to build an image of a perfect role model student and decided that she wouldn't let her fatigue ruin it. She made her way upstairs, changed into her pajamas and threw herself into her mattress wantonly.

:

She fell asleep think about the upcoming War...

:

How Father felt going into it ten years ago...

:

What could the other Masters be doing right now...

:

If their Servants were proving to be as big a headache as hers was...

:

She _really_ hoped so.

/\

\/

Morning came sooner than she would've wanted, more so than usual. If it weren't for the need to build up some discipline in her sleeping schedule, she would gladly stay put till the afternoon. Every. Single. Day. Dragging herself out of bed, she stepped into her robes and headed to the bathroom for a morning shower, the beginning of her day-to-day routine. Seeing the circular tattoo's reflection on the bathroom mirror, however, reminded her of what transpired just recently in her life.

"Archer?" — she called forth her Servant but no one responded. Both curious and irked by his absence, she put her robes back on and went downstairs, calling for him once more — "Archer!?" — but still no answer.

 _Did I dream it all?_ An unnecessary question seeing she still had the brand and could feel him drawing from her pool of magical energy to sustain himself in the earthly plane.

It was a pleasant fantasy nonetheless. One that look all the more plausible as she saw that there's was no longer a hole in the sitting room ceiling and that all of destruction from the previous night had been miraculously cleaned up. One handled headache was unfortunately offset by new one when she spotted several boxes, she recognized as materials that were stored in the basement, stacked up in the foyer's corner. Before she could ask herself what all of that was doing up there, she finally got a reply from her unruly Servant.

"Morning Master." — he greeted her from behind. Sighing, and not wanting to appear crude, she turned around to do the same.

"Good morninGGGAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

"What!?"

"You're naked!" — she pointed out to the oblivious Servant while covering her eyes.

"No I'm not." — true, he was wearing a towel around his waist but...

"Put your clothes back on!" — she barked.

"As you wish... you prude." — in a blink he went back to the same attire he was wearing the last time she had seen him — "Better I take it?"

"Where were you and why were running around the house in the nude!? And why is the stuff from the basement up here!?" — she demanded to know while pointing out the pile of boxes.

"A bit of an overreaction don't you think?"

"Answer me!"

"Relax Master, I was just premiering the hot spring."

"Hot spring? What hot spring?"

"The one I built in your cellar. Hope you don't mind."

"The one you..." — not waiting for an explanation, she ran down to the basement to find that its entirety had indeed been turned into a bonafide thermal bath, like that of a ultra fancy spa resort, just as Archer said — "H-H-How...?"

"There's an underground stream of water running beneath the foundations of your house. I simply rerouted it into a deeper well where it can be heated and then it was just a matter of pipe-lining it back here. Basic stuff all and all." — he nonchalantly informed his Master after catching up with her.

"In three hours? You did all of this in three hours?" — it was actually less than that considering he had been taking a bath for some time.

"I also fixed the hole you left in the living room ceiling." — he added.

"I left? You're the one who crashed through it." — Rin reminded him.

"And who's fault was that, _Master_?" — to be conversely remind back at, much to her displeasure — "Anyway, if you don't like it I can easily put it back the way it was..."

"Get out."

"Uh?"

"I'm going to take a bath and I desire privacy. I'll call for you once I'm done, so this time make sure to listen the first time I do so. Now out!" — he threw up his hands in the air, surrendering to her will, and went back upstairs.

Disrobing, Rin cautiously entered the steaming water, soon sliding down the soft, marble-like pavement until only her face remained afloat. Needless to say, it felt absolutely divine.

_Well... at least now there's a silver lining to Archer's quarrelsome behavior._

/\

\/

"Master?"

"Mmm..."

"Master, is everything alright?" — with her ears submerged, Rin could barely make sense of her Servant's voice from behind the converted basement door.

"...Archer? What... what you want?"

"Just checking in. I thought you might be hungry. It's one thing to skip breakfast, but lunch might not be such a good idea. Best you nurture yourself." — she was feeling peckish now that he had mentioned it and _... Wait, lunch!?_

"What time is it?"

"Your time keeping device rang twelve times just recently." — _Noon!? Already!?_

"Curse you Archer!" — she yelled while jumping out of the water.

"What did I do?"

"Your stupid thermal bath is too good! I fell asleep!"

"Again, how is it my fault that my Master turn out to be such a lazy woman?" — he ignored the annoyed grunts she gave as a response — "At any rate, I've left some food in a tray by the door. Do try and eat some of it, Master. Gods know I can't win if you turn into a skeleton."

"Thank you... I guess." — it was nice of him to prepare her food Rin had to admit, and it was reassuring that despite his misconduct he was still concern about her well-being... in his own quarrelsome way.

 _Smoked meat and mead, uh? God, I think I might've ended up summoning a Viking. All he's missing is the devil horns._ The meal was delicious regardless and the mental image of Archer wearing an over-sized horned helmet, historical inaccuracy aside, was amusing to the point she started to audibly chuckling.

 _Damn it Tohsaka, pull yourself together!_ She mentally, and physically, slapped some sense into herself before the vapors and the alcohol got any further into her head. _You're a Master in the Holy Grail War now, you cannot afford to be this lax! You got to put your head in the game! Right this instant!_

It was decided.

_Five more minutes, then its back to work..._

/\

\/

"Master?"

"Mmm... what, I...?" — _Curse you Archer and your hot springs! I fell asleep again!_

"Should I come another time?" — Rin's Servant asked after hearing her shrilling groan.

"Just tell me what you want now!"

"Someone's at the door." — he informed her — "And since you suppose to live alone..."

"Coming." — she grunted while pulling herself out the pool. She quickly dried herself up and curled herself in her robes once more, before exiting into the hallway where Archer had been patiently waiting since that morning.

"The soggy shrew emerges from her lair at last!" — he announced as she ascended the small flight of stairs — "I mean, I'm glad you like it but about time you got out of there."

"Quiet you!" — sapped of most of her strength, Rin could only muster a curt reaction to his ridicule — "Who's at the door?"

"A woman about your age, dressed in similar clothes to those you wore last night. What do want me to do?"

"Just stay out of sight. I'll deal with it." — he complied, changing to his ethereal form to conceal himself from the visitor.

"She could be another Master, are you sure that's wise? You don't look like you're prepared for a confrontation right now." — he advised, noticing her Master's uneven posture.

"I-I-I..." — she sneezed due to the sudden temperature contrast — "I doubt it's another Master, it's probably just someone from the Academy."

And she was indeed correct, finding a well-known face waiting for her by the manor's entrance.

"Hey Tohsaka."

"Hey Ayako."

"Wow Tohsaka, you must be really under the weather to greet me by my given name." — not missing a beat, her long-time friend took the presented opportunity to tease her.

"...!" — taken aback by her own faux pas, Rin had no choice but to concede — "You're right, Mitsuzuri. I'm not feeling that particularly well today."

"Oh, I can tell. Your cheeks are all red and I swear I can feel the heat coming out of you." — she pointed out with a mix of worry and amusement — "Wanna go see a doctor? I know you're more into the traditional type medicine, but it looks you're having a heatstroke. I can come with."

"No... no need for that. I'll be fine by tomorrow, trust me." — she assured her colleague. _Provided I stay away from the basement that is._

"Why? What's in the basement?" — too late did Rin realized that last sentence hadn't been kept within the confines of her mind.

"Nothing. Nothing. I'm just rambling to myself." — she swiftly tried to divert her attention from the subject, which only served to spike her friend's inquisitiveness even more.

"You sure?" — much to Rin's alarm, Ayako's features began to beam — "Oh, I see. You're hiding something in there, aren't you? Or is it some _one_ , by any chance?" — _Damn it,_ _did she heard me talking to Archer?_

"There's not a soul in the house besides me." — the panicky tone of her statement did little to convince her friend otherwise.

"Ahem." — _You don't count!_

"Really? Let's see then. You are standing in front of me with shaky legs and a mild hangover while still in your bed robes, after taking a hot bath, _after_ having just woke up judging by the droopy eyes. Given the hour, this presumes that you spent the night awaken." — she peered over her shoulder — "Then there're those moving boxes, neatly labelled and all, I'm spying in the corner over there, not to mention the steam seeping in from the end of the hallway."

"Your friend is quite observant, Master." — _Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!_

"Could it be that you finally managed to beat me?" — her satisfaction with the mistaken assumption that she had lost their long established bet came off as quite uncharacteristic of a competitive person such as Ayako — "And you went straight for the home run no less. You truly never do things half-ass, Tohsaka."

"I'm just sick, Mitsuzuri." — _Sick of the migraines my Servant is giving me._

"Oh, I wish I was too. Think you could let me rub it out of you?" — she poked her friend with her elbow in jest — "Well, Kuzuki sent me to see if you were doing okay, and I can see that _you_ are doing just fine."

"Sensei sent you?" — eager to change the theme of the conversation, Rin focused on the motive Ayako had come to see her.

"It's not often that the Queen absents herself from school without letting somebody know beforehand. He must be worried." — the mere thought of that stone faced man exhibiting an ounce of worry was downright bizarre — "I know, I was surprised to."

"Wait, you're royalty?" — Archer quizzed with some amazement — "That would explain the attitude."

_She meant it as banter. She's like that._

"Like what Tohsaka?" — once more her inner thoughts had come out too loud.

"Nothing. Nothing. Talking to myself again."

"You're awfully defensive today." — she expressed with noticeable disappointment — "This is no fun unless you bite back a bit you know? I trust you'll be back in shape by tomorrow?"

"Yes, I'll be coming back to the Academy in the morning."

"You best. Your subjects will surely wither without you to bask them with your presence for another day. I'll let you to rest then." — saying her farewells, she made her way to the front gate of the mansion — "Say hi to him for me, okay!?"

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Mitsuzuri." — naturally she didn't heard nor saw the Servant mimicking her departing hand gesture.

"Sure..."

Even though she could ultimately trust Ayako not to reveal anything she saw, gossip like that had a way of spreading around. There would be a lot of damage control ahead. Exhausted by the downward spiral her life had been falling into since the fateful summoning, she ascended back to her room to collect her thoughts, followed closely by the paradoxical bane and boon of her existence. If the past day had been of any indication, she needed to win this war as quickly as possible.

"So what's our next step now that you finally finished soaking yourself, your Grace?" — _Great,_ _I'm not going to hear the end of it aren't I? Thanks a lot Ayako._

"Talk to the fake priest about my entry into the War." — loath as she did to do so — "Delayed that for enough time already."

"Is he the kind that drowns or burns people alive?" — she honestly wouldn't be that shocked if he found a way to do both at the same time.

"Neither as far as I know. He seems like any ordinary executor of the Church." — if one could call those persons ordinary — "Why are you even asking this? Are you ignorant of these concepts as well?"

"That's the thing, Master, I am. I realize I should know all this, but I simply... do not. It might have stemmed from the way you blundered the ritual... or at least that's what I assumed at first." — anticipating his Master's doubts, he expounded — "It goes beyond the lack of material about my legend. In all the records you have stored away in your library, I cannot make sense of any single instance of your documented history. There are some scattered allusions, however the finer details always contradict all the inherent knowledge I possess. Past, present or future. And that extends to everything else about this place. Only the spoken language is immediately familiar to me, most likely because the connection you and I share."

"If you only knew how to speak the language, then how were you able to read the books?" — despite his misgivings, it was heartening to see her Servant taking this mystery with the proper amount of seriousness.

"I studied your lip movements while you were searching through those texts last night, associating the voiceless sounds with the written characters. After I got a basic grasp of it, I made use of those didactic essays on linguistics you had stocked in your cellar." — he pointed to the assortment of old school manuals lying atop her desk.

"Impressive... although such mental prowess should be expected from an Heroic Spirit." — quickly corrected herself so as not sound too flattering. She hated that — "Still, is nonetheless strange that you lack knowledge of this time. Servants should come with some modicum of acquaintance with the era they're summoned in, to avoid the complications that arise from cultural shock."

It was all the more reason for her to go talk to the fake priest. Maybe he could shed some light on that conundrum, she deliberated. She considered merely notify him by phone, but Kirei would almost certainly prefer that they met in person for a matter such as this and she figured the trip to Fuyuki Church would help shake off the lingering dizziness from the overextended bath.

"Shall we go then?" — swallowing her reluctance, she signaled the waiting Servant after changing into her casual attire. Archer, however, displayed some hesitancy.

"You sure you want to go out like this?"

"Why, did you detected an opponent in the vicinity? Another magus' familiar spying on us?" — any opposing Master worth their salt would do well to try and keep an eye on the head of the Tohsaka family afterall, given their deep-seated association with the War. Naturally, Rin made sure that their attempts didn't get past the act of trying.

"No, none of that."

"Then?" — _Is he worried about my state?_

"...it's nothing. Forget what I said."

"It's not nothing, Archer. Tell me."

"I shouldn't. You already have too much on your mind." — his continual unwillingness to accede to her request began to irritate her.

"I'm your Master and you're my Servant. You will not keep any secrets from me, Archer. Tell me or I shall use a Command Spell to force obedience out of you." — something she should've done ages ago to curb his persistent insubordination in hindsight.

"... your clothes..." — he murmured.

"My clothes? What about my them? Are they dirty?" — she hadn't paid much attention to them while dressing herself, so maybe he had spotted something in them.

"...you could say that... I mean, it might this cultural shock thing... let's just say your choice of attire befits more a... shall we say, woman of ill-repute." — _oh,_ _he DID NOT just say that_ — "Or are you into the kind of magecraft that involves frequent fluid exchange?"

"Ex...cu...se...me...?"

"I figure that's why the skirt is so short, right? To facilitate access..." — the Servant grew pale as he no doubt felt the prana flowing in from her boiling — "N-N-Now Master, you're the one who wanted me to be-be honest with you and... and I-I-I didn't want you to waste a Command Spell on some-something so frivolous."

"One. More. Careless word. Out of your mouth..." — her voice on the other hand was dissonantly tranquil — "...and I'll use it instead to make you rip out your own privates. Are. We. Clear?"

"..." — biting his lips, he nodded like a cowed child.

"Good."

/\

\/

Both had more urgent issues to attend to, so the conversation between Rin and her longstanding legal guardian was mercifully cut short.

Aside from the expected reprimand she received for the late notification and the later talk involving her involvement in the War, she had also questioned Kirei asked about her Servant's condition, in a roundabout way as not give away any weaknesses. For his part, the fake priest wasn't aware of any other occurrence like it, much to her chagrin. He finished by revealing that she was the last of the seven Masters to be accounted for, meaning the Fifth Holy Grail War was now officially in full swing.

With this in mind, she decided to spend the rest of the time left till nightfall preparing to go out into the city proper, looking for traces of the other Masters' activities. Archer seemed equally excited when she told him about her plans, though more about getting to see more of 'this strange city' than the possibility of confronting another Servant in battle. He had been giddying around like a little kid both during the back and forth trip from the Church atop the hill and during their subsequent nightly patrol which had taken them to the top of the tall central building overseeing Shinto, a perfect lookout spot.

"Quite the view, eh Master?"

Oddly enough, despite his class being renown for having a keen eyesight, both Servant and Master surveyed the bellow surroundings using an intricately crafted convex lens the former had fashioned from a discarded window panel close at hand for each. The telescopic glass in front of her resembled the a cross between a full length mirror and a snow crystal, its focal point accompanying her gaze and even zooming in or out at her beck and call. It had been the first time Rin witnessed his powers in action, a sort of highly advanced Transmutation magecraft combined with Reinforcement, an admittedly odd set of skills for someone in his class. Such was his apparent mastery in fact, that she began to question if he truly was an Archer as his words suggested.

"Yes it is..." — it was an inspiring sight, no doubt about it, and she would be lying to herself if she didn't find his childlike elation to be somewhat contagious — "...but you need to concentrate on the task at hand. The War has already begun and if were to have any chance of victory we need to be diligent. Have you spotted anything?"

"Nothing so far. On your side?"

"The same." — the other Masters were taking care to conceal their traces, as was to be anticipated.

"It's the first night. The others are most likely they're finishing preparations in their bases or using constructs to scout around to get a better sense of the competition before planning their next move. Same as us." — he speculated.

The two nonetheless continued to peruse the bustling streets for any sign, any trail that might clue them in on the whereabouts of their opponents. Most of what she saw were regular denizens enjoying themselves in Shinto's famous nighttime, blissfully unaware of the battlefield they were occupying. The entire district in fact had been consumed by that great fire ten years ago, without a doubt a consequence of the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War. The timing was too perfect for it to be otherwise. Rin had always wondered if her Father was somehow involved in what transpired. Had he been the perpetrator? One of the many victims? Or had it been something else? Details about his death had been always sketchy, most coming from Kirei (not the most trustworthy source), no matter how much effort she put into uncovering the circumstances.

It was one thing she could ask the Grail to grant. She didn't want anything from it to begin with, other than honoring her father's legacy, achieve what eluded her family a decade ago. So why not ask that? Waste a miracle on a mundane question.

Deep in reminiscence, it wasn't until Archer began snickering like an idiot that Rin floated back to the real world.

_What's so amusing all of a sudden?_

Her gaze shifted to where he was looking, the eyeglass promptly centering on his point of interest. The scene it showed was that of a street where two fools had just recently rear-ended their vehicles against each other's. One of them was a visibly drunk young man, the other was an old fat woman currently beating the tar out of him with her purse.

"Did you not hear me, Archer? Focus. You're supposed to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity, not looking at car accidents." — she never did find the appeal of such lowbrow humor.

"Car. Short for carriage just as it's short on horses. Is that what your people call them?" — he asked.

"Yes, that or automobiles." — she acquainted him with yet another aspect of modernity, as she had been doing since the two left the mansion — "Did you ever have them in... Westeros was it?"

"They didn't exist during my time, nor did they call them that. I only have a vague idea, somewhat like a concept sketched in my head, of what they are." — that brought up an intriguing question.

"Just how far your knowledge goes beyond your own time period? You mentioned before that you had some intrinsic insight of the future."

"Their feats are on par with yours from what I can tell. The farthest I can see are abstractions similar to what you have in this present, but different in their design." — her Servant explained.

"Different in what way?"

"It's complicated." — he paused, pondering on the best way to elucidate her — "Think of it like this. In this land like in mine, the sorcerers, or magi as you call them, were once the driving force behind the multiple civilizations dispersed throughout the world, shaping the lives of its inhabitants from highest of lords to the lowest of peasants. Then like what happen after the Long Night and the end of the Age of Heroes, culminating with the Doom of Valyria, their art began to die down, decaying over the ages. Its practice became a myth, simple superstition among the smallfolk, only wielded in secret by a select few that became the keepers of the ancient thaumaturgical knowledge. Correct?"

"Yes, that's the general picture of it. Although, to my knowledge, we didn't had any of those particular fancy sounding events you referred to." — notwithstanding, it sparked an inkling of curiosity in her. She would've to ask about more of his land's history when appropriate.

"The difference lies in what happen next." — he continued — "In this world, it seems it was the maesters that rose to fill the vacuum among the general populous, becoming the dominant scholars. They're the chief source of all the technology that most of your current society built its foundations upon. Magic and its related craft were relegated to play second fiddle in the larger picture."

"And in yours?"

"The same thing would've happen. The maesters at the Citadel worked tirelessly behind everyone's back to achieve this same scenario. Those greedy no-name bastards." — he spat with disdain.

"But they failed, I'm assuming."

"Yes, for then came a queen that gave birth to three dragons..." — Archer exclaimed with pomp worthy of a dramatic theater play — "...and the glass candles burned yet again, signalling the beginning of new Age. Warlocks, Shadowbinders, Greenseers, Maegi, Pyromancers, Spellsingers... sorcerers of all kinds suddenly found their power, residual as it was, multiplied tenfold by the unfolding events. Magic flowed without restraint and in abundance, like someone burst a dam filled to the brim with prana. Crafts long forgotten were rediscovered and flourished anew. Miracles were beseeched and answered by Gods long dormant. And those who wielded magic ultimately retook their place atop the scholarly chain, becoming the engine that moved the world anew." — another pause — "So, to answer your early question, just imagined if it was one of your magus that designed those vehicles down there. Our cars are design by sorcerers, yours by maesters."

"In short, yours is a society of magic and mine is predominantly one of modern science. Our vehicles move with gasoline, yours with prana." — she summarized.

"More or less, yes."

"Interesting. Perhaps that explains your condition. There are theories that say the Throne acts as a nexus for different parallel realities, alternate timelines, equally possible scenarios that never were. I may have summoned an Heroic Spirit from a wholly divergent world by pure accident." — and maybe, in said world, his legend was noteworthy, Rin hypothesized. There could still be a light at the end of the tunnel for her — "Alright, we're done looking here."

"Call it a night?" — in a blink, the two complex lenses transmuted back into the simple thin rectangular glasses Archer had molded them from.

"Not yet, there's one place I want to check out first."

/\

\/

Maybe it was because she had miss it earlier that day, thanks to Archer's stupid hot spring, but she felt vindicated to check out the school grounds before returning home. Of course there were sensible reasons. The heir to the Matou's, that insufferable Shinji, also frequented the same school and even though his bloodline hadn't produced a magus of worth in several generations, it was not farfetched to think he might've joined the War as well. His was still one of the three founding families, whose bond with the Grail transcended such comparatively inconsequential matters. To say nothing about Sakura.

"So this is where the maesters teach you?" — in his ethereal form, Archer surveyed the surrounding school buildings from the Academy's courtyard.

"Teachers." — she corrected him — "But yes, it is."

"And it's like this everywhere?"

"In most countries, all people bellow a certain age are required by law to attend school. Most magus do so as well as to not raise suspicion, and to better blend in with the rest of society." — Rin explained while waiting for him to finish.

"I see, educating the masses. So that's how they got their hand on the monopoly, the chained weasels." — in spite of her riling unfamiliarity with the circumstances, his derision of these 'maesters' was patent — "Anyhow, I don't detect anything unusual about this place. These grounds are clean of any form of bounded field, or any magical residue for that matter."

"Are you certain?"

"Certain as I will ever be."

"Check again, more thoroughly." — Rin insisted, much to his irritation. After five or so minutes of silence, she asked again — "Anything?"

"Same as before, Master." — he repeated, as if it had been a foregone conclusion.

"Then there's nothing here. Lets head ba-" — out of the blue, Archer's materializing arm blocked her path — "Arch-?" — his face turned to ice. His Master understood the situation then and there.

"You're not getting the drop on us, if that even was your intention." — he spoke to the surrounding darkness — "So before we do this, how about you present yourself. It's rude to duel without a proper introduction. That's the Stranger's act, and if I can sense you then it means you're definitely not him."

"Or her..." — a figure condensed from the shadows, seated atop the roof's fence, distinctly feminine in shape. Also conspicuous was the spear wrapped around her right arm and, in the other, a small round shield tied to her wrist — "...you can never really tell what they are beneath the cloth and fakery."

"Lancer, I presume." — _Certain as you will ever be, Archer!?_ _How did you not detect her!?_

"Oh, whatever give you such an impression, girl?" — the Servant of the Lance gibed, stroking the shaft of her weapon — "Yes, that is indeed what your contemporaries call me. Concise, devoid of superfluous flowery, a more suitable designation wouldn't you agree, Champion of the Maiden? Or do you prefer Archer, as your Master is fond of calling you?"

"Either all. Not all of us are that poignantly obvious." — Archer pointed out — "Though its rather curt of you to be listening in to the private conversations of others..."

"That of the Smith, industrious and ingenious... if you must know."

The clouds parted, allowing the full-moon to illuminate the rooftop and the opposing Servant, accentuating the latter's olive skin and svelte frame. Covering it was a bronze corset and various pieces of jewellery in her arms, bare legs and strands of her chest-length straighten raven hair, coupled with prussian blue silks wrapped in an X around her bosom and neck, and running down from her waist in a double slit skirt. Her face further punctuated the exotic visage, being squared-jawed with pronounced cheekbones and thin almond eyes with dark irises.

"Appreciate it." — he thanked her — "I take it you've been tasked with scouting around the competition. The Smiths' are quite able in that regard."

"As it may be... it's awfully dull to have to contain myself in such degree. A Champion of my class is rather good at fleeing the scene, much as I personally distaste such craven tactics. Woe is me that I'm not even capable of twisting my Master's orders to entertain myself a bit."

"So what now? Is it my turn for you to test the waters with?"

"With the likes of you, I would rather test a bed." — Lancer shot Archer with a sly smile — "Alas, there's a time for each thing, and now blood and sweat is what must be shed. We were both brought here for a Trial afterall..."

She jumped down from the rooftop, landing on the courtyard already in a lowered battle stance. On cue, Archer beckoned his Master to step back and let him deal with her, something Rin was more than inclined to do. Adopting a more nonchalant posture, he manifested his own Noble Phantasm... an oversized double-headed hammer.

_A hammer? My Archer uses a hammer?_

She couldn't help but to feel a sudden surge of dread. Granted her father's hadn't been a typical archer, of the bow and arrow kind, either but it still somewhat made sense seeing he used a plethora of Noble Phantasms as projectiles. The logic behind hers using a hammer, that looked like it belong in some giant craftsman's workshop, eluded Rin. In concert, Lancer seemed equally surprised and amused, but nonetheless kept her guard up.

"A question first, if you would give me that courtesy." — Archer requested.

"Do tell."

"Answer me this. Are you just in the dark as to where in Gods' name we've ended up in?" — she didn't speak, but her face betrayed an affirmation — "Well... good to know I'm not alone on this."

A heavy stillness befell the area, as both Servants measured one another, waiting. The atmosphere around the two became inhospitable as the prana circulating through the air cooled down by their mutual sheer killing intent. Despite the female Servant's words, this was still a duel to the death for all intents and purposes. That was their sole objective in this world. Each would kill their opponent if the chance presented itself, without so much as an ounce of hesitation.

When it became clear, over an excruciatingly slow interval of time, that Archer wasn't going to make the first move, Lancer struck.

A sudden, blinding fast dash forward, eliminating the distance between the two in a flash, going for an piercing thrust. Archer understood this and dodged to his side rather than trying to parry her strike. With an unnatural flow she stopped exactly where he had been standing and swung her lance, the tip of which was just at the right distance to slash Archer's throat. This time, he ducked and rolled to avoid it, closing the gap between the two to negate the advantage her spear's reach gave.

Unfortunately, with an agile handwork, she swiftly retracted her weapon and struck downward with another piercing motion, barely missing him as he deflected it with his hammer. However, she used the momentum to twirl around and execute another slash, this time aimed at his face. Out of options, he jumped backwards to dodge the low swing but before he could gain some distance she stopped the motion midway and drove the non-bladed end of the spear into his gut, sending him flying. He recovered quickly, landing on his feet, and both promptly assumed the same stances as they had started the fight with.

Two seconds ago.

A mere blink and most of the fight so far would've been lost on her. Archer could've already been killed and Lancer might've been driving the spear into her throat, ending her life. Rin's heart began pumping hard, harder than ever did in a moment of her life. A clash between two of these mystical beings was not something a human sight could ever become accustomed too, that much was now clear to the young Master.

Lancer rushed again, mimicking her opening maneuver. This time however, Archer wasn't about to let her get close to him. He raised his hammer high above, to strike at her as she approached him... or at least that's what Rin's untrained eye first assumed.

_*clang*_

He swung it down, striking not at Lancer but the ground beneath him. Lancer herself noted this and cautiously halted her dash, which ended up proving to be a wise move on her part. The ground around them erupted violently, with pillars of stone shooting skyward in concentric succession forming a rocky crown around Archer. Unfazed, Lancer leaped over the obstacles and dove at him...

_*clang*_

...but Archer hammer struck again, not the ground but the obelisk that had formed right in front of him. The column, and others around it, shattered into thousands of shards that were subsequently projected unto the airborne Lancer like bullets. Seemingly on its own, however, the brass buckler she carried detached itself from her wrist and flew off, positioning itself in front of its wielder. Accompanying her lethal plunge, metallic rays expanded from its circular centre, effortlessly shielding Lancer from the inbound projectiles.

_*clang*_

Archer continued despite the failure of his previous attack, smashing the pillars to his side nearly in chorus, sending more rocky bullets at the female Servant from her sides. But just like before, her flying aegis promptly reacted to this, orbiting the descending Lancer at a dazing speed, shielding her from every shard regardless of the direction they came at.

_*clang*_

Just as she was about to land the blow on the still stationary Archer, Rin's Servant hammered the obelisk behind him with a backward wave of his right arm. Rather than shattering into tiny pieces like the others, it instead lurched forward, akin a falling tree, right onto the path of the approaching Lancer. She avoided being swathed away by dexterously driving her lance into the tip of the tumbling boulder and then using her elongated weapon to pole-vault herself above it.

She got no respite as smaller, spiked obelisk home in on her, using the larger she had just dodged as a ramp, to impale her while she lay midair and with her lance still embed on the rock. Coming again to her rescue, the soaring shield spun on its axis, vertically cutting the stony spear in two like a buzzsaw, whilst angling itself just enough to also drive the half's away from Lancer.

Landing on the now tilted pillar, the enemy Servant found a couple of craggy columns rapidly encroaching on her from the left and right, trying to squash her like a bug between the palms of two hands. She stopped them by using her spear as a jack between the pair, its shaft even taking the shape of a spring to better withstand the exerted pressure, then limboing backwards beneath it when a third one that tried to do the same from above. Her shield once more flew, lacerating the earthly prison trapping its wielder, who escaped through the mist of dust and pebbles left in its wake.

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

Now forced to the defensive, Lancer displayed her classes' graceful maneuverability as she kept effortlessly slipping through Gaia's grasping fingers of gravel and clay. Her trusty airborne discus aided her by hacking-and-slashing through several as they rose one by one to frenetically try and get a hold on the evasive Servant.

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

Archer, on the other hand, was firmly anchored in his spot, dead center among the devastation that he had brought to the school's courtyard, wholly turned into a sharply scarped landscape by his powers. Every time he swung his hammer the soil beneath resonated in response, like a maestro conducting an orchestra, with the crackle of the bedrock being the sweeping music.

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

"Your powers are proving to be quite entertaining. I could've easily mistaken you for the Crone's." — she declared during a brief lull in her opponent's attacks — "Delightful as this is all proving to be, this match has to come to a conclusion still."

"Had enough already?" — he boasted, showing some worrying signs of weariness.

"Don't be so cocky as to assume your little performance has fully satiated me just yet." — her entire body jerked at once, her joints all giving a loud cracking sound and her eyes widening in glee — "Try not to expire too soon now. This stimulation comes oh so seldom."

She launched herself in his direction anew, her speed having somehow risen sharply, startling both Rin and Archer.

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

Once more, Archer sent multiple hunks of the earth at her, but the way she avoided his strikes became markedly different. Until then, her movements were comparable to that of a regular human, only heavily enhanced by the magical nature of her body. Now, she no longer slip past the obstacles thrown her way, she _slithered_ , her body having acquired the same fluidity as water. And like a river streaming past the obstructions in its trail, Archer's attacks did little to stop her from flowing closer to her destination.

_~hisssssss~_

Moreover, as Master and Servant found out, the unnaturalness of Lancer's motions also extended to the way she brandished her weapon when she got in range. With the entire of its shaft coiled around her forearm, she didn't need to grab nor thrust her lance. It simply shot forward like a high powered spring piston, twisting and turning to accompany her wild flailing, losing none of its impetus...

_*clink*_

...as evident by how much force Archer had to put into the deflecting swings of his hammer to keep her from skewering him. She began a whirling waltz around her adversary, striking from every conceivable angle with multiple whipping strikes from her limbs in tandem with her weapon thrusts, in what Rin recognized as some bizarre form of martial art.

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

Adding to his already precarious position, Archer also had to contend with the fact that the spear was ostensibly capable of freely course throughout Lancer entire body, not just her arm anymore, striking out from any direction set by one of its extremities. Ten fingers tips, ten toes, twenty-eight hand joints, ten foot joints, two wrists, two heels, two elbows, two knees, two breasts, two shoulders, one chin, one tongue, one nose and two ears. Seventy-five possible vectors of approach he now had to account for every time her lance shot forward. An advantage his foe fully exploited by contorting herself in an impossible fashion, to maximize the unpredictability.

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

The snake-like shaft kept unraveling itself back and forth, again and again...

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

One moment of hesitation...

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

One misstep...

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

One mistimed parry...

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

...it was all it would take, all would be over. Little by little, Archer was being pushed back, overwhelmed by the intensity of Lancer's unrelentingly onslaught, an ensnaring serpent gradually strangling her foe to death. Even with the other Servant so close, he couldn't possibly launch a counterattack while he was forced to constantly protect himself.

Rin knew she had to step in before it was too late. While well aware that engaging a Servant was miles beyond her league, she could at the very least provide a distraction, giving Archer a much needed window of opportunity to react. She had come with several of her painstakingly crafted jewels, each suffused with years' worth of her magical energy, but it would be a waste of money to dispense them in such a manner. Not to mention what would happen if she hit Archer by mistake. A simpler offensive spell would suffice as a diversion while not running the risk of any serious friendly fire.

Steeling her resolve, she closed eyes to bring her erratic breathing under control, still sensing the reverberations in the air the two Servants produced with each collision. She stirred up the prana stored inside her magical circuit, preparing the release of a Finn Shot. The magical energy coalesced inside the pocket of her red jacket where she kept her hand concealed, akin a duelist holding his loaded revolver in its holster until the last moment.

With one last decisive inhalation, she drew her 'pistol', opening her eyes to take aim...

"Huh?"

...and found herself gazing at her own reflection on Lancer's shield, floating right in front of her. The bronze disc gently spun on its horizontal axis, the outer crown of metallic sun-like rays expanding and retracting as if each was magnetically attracted by the energy she had been concentrating at the tip of her fingers.

_I see. It must've sensed my intent to attack Lancer._

Despite the brownish metal it was made of, its consistence was more that of liquid mercury, with multiple and minuscule ripple waves propagating from various points in its reflective surface. Ramping up the eerie factor was the low whistling sound, serene in its tune, that it gave while motioning at a slow pace around Rin, probing her presence with a curiosity typical of a dog sniffing a stranger's feet.

_Why doesn't it attack me? Is it only capable of defending Lancer, not assaulting her foes?_

A Noble Phantasm capable of reacting independently in defense of its user. An automatic guard. It would explain why it hadn't attacked Archer, that function simply went beyond its intended functionality. Much to her growing panic, this also meant Rin couldn't possibly intervene in the battle to his favor.

Not that he needed it.

_~hisssssss~_

_*clank*_

The brass spearhead bounced off a steel-like cocoon that abruptly erupted out of the earth, encasing Archer within its confines. This did little to deter Lancer, who repeatedly pounded a single point in the structure, like a jackhammer, until her lance trespassed it crosswise. Rin held her breath, but the lack of blood on the blade indicated that she hadn't hit him and much to the female Servant's horror the hollow shell then twisted around the entry and exit holes, preventing her from retracting the shaft. Having used her early enthusiasm to effectively disarm her, Archer then exploded out of the soil behind Lancer akin a landmine, swinging his left fist overhead which winded up connecting with her reflexive buckler.

_*clang*_

Exactly what he wanted. It dawned on both women why exactly did he chose to attack with his bare hand rather than with his hammer, which along his right leg he still had half-buried in the soil. Rin's own background as a martial artist allowed her to grasp that Lancer's style was a pure offensive one, relying on impossibly fast strikes to simultaneously swamp her enemy into submission and keep him from retaliating. Her defense thus relied totally on her agility to keep up the torrent of strikes or, failing that, the flying shield capable of acting without her input.

With both temporally pinned down by the steel casing and Archer's clenched hand, she couldn't possibly avoid being sent flying courtesy of a giant stone foot that sprung upwards from the ground and booted her from behind, hard. Cathartic as it felt seeing her somersaulting through the air, it wasn't enough to put Lancer down, especially seeing that the sun discus managed to cushion her before she could slam head first against the school building.

"Rather rough of you, hitting me in such a fashion." — she remarked while coiling herself upwards to a seated position, legs crossed atop her aegis serving as a floating throne — "Pity we have to wrap it up so soon. I've only been tasked with gauging my opponents abilities, regrettably."

"Real shame." — Archer added with sarcasm, trying his best to mask the fatigue.

"Besides..." — she took a glance to the side — "...it seems we have an unwanted spectator."

"...!?"— Master and Servant reacted in surprise at the revelation, as a figure by a nearby shrub darted away, its presence found.

"For the performance you gave me tonight, I'll save you the displeasure of eliminating this poor soul. I'll be seeing you." — she stood up and promptly give chance to the ill-fated bystander, who had ran into the main school building.

"Wait!" — Rin cried out in vain.

"Master?" — her Servant stood there waiting for her command, unsure on what to do.

"Archer, go after her! Stop her before she-!" — he didn't wait for her to finish, and darted after his opponent at a dazzling speed.

She ran after them as well, obviously not nearly as fast. It didn't take long for her to detect the same clamor from before, the clanging sounds of Archer's hammer and Lancer's hissing spear, only matched in volume by her ragged breathing and footsteps as she sprinted through the echoing hallways. With any luck, those noises meant he had stopped the other Servant from killing whoever stumbled into their duel.

Rin pored over the situation. It wasn't another Master, otherwise he would've sent his own Servant forth rather than simply fleeing the scene, nor it could be a trap. Archer hadn't detected any traces of a bounded field, and no level-headed individual would try to spring a trap on two Servants at the same time, much less interrupt their fight.

Who was it then?

 _A vagrant?_ Unlikely in that area.

 _A night watchman?_ The Academy didn't hire those.

 _A student?_ What were they doing there at that hour?

It was that last thought that rang as the most plausible in Rin's mind. The notion of one of her classmates having come across this conflict by mere chance, and being mercilessly cut down because of it. The unstated rules of the Holy Grail War dictated the elimination of any uninvolved non-magus, to preserve its secrecy. But in the end that's what they were, unstated. She was the perfect role model student of her school, the rightful queen of this Academy. No way in hell she would let one of its subjects come to harm while she could do something about it.

She continued to run through the empty corridors, using the growing rumble to guide her. In a scene uncannily similar to the previous night, it was the deafening thunder of Archer crashing into one of the nearby classrooms', after he had been thrown down through several stories, that made her stop.

"Gods damn that woman!" — he howled amid groans of pain.

"Archer, are you alright!?" — she barged inside the wrecked classroom to check on her Servant, who was presently embed into the broken blackboard.

"Wish I has finer, thank you." — he let her know while disentangling himself from the side wall.

"And Lancer!?"

"Scurried off. The kid managed to escape, but she'll be searching for him no doubt. To finish the job." — Archer appraised.

"Did you see him? Who was it?"

"Tad busy not getting us both killed to ask for the ginger's name."

 _Kid... a student... him..._ _ginger..._ only one person she knew matched that sparse description.

"I know who he is! Follow me!"


	3. Shirou

**死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死** _命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死死死死死死死** _命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命_ **死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死** _命命_ **死死死** _命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命_ **死死** _命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死** _命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命_ **死** _命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死**  
**死死** _命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命_ **死** _命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命_ **死死死** _命命_ **死死死死**  
**死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死** _命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死** _命_ **死死死死** _命命命命命命_ **死死死**  
**死死死** _命_ **死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命_ **死死死死** _命命命_ **死死死死**  
**死死死** _命命命_ **死死死死死死死** _命命命命_ **死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命_ **死死** _命命命_ **死** _命命_  
**死死死死** _命命命_ **死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死** _命_ **死死** _命命命命命命_ **死** _命命_ **死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命_  
**死死** _命命命命_ **死死死死死死死** _命命命命_ **死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死** _命命命_ **死** _命命命命命命命命命命命_  
**死** _命命命命命命命_ **死** _命命_ **死死死** _命命命命_ **死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死** _命命命命命命_ **死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命_  
_命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命_  
_命命命命命命命命命_ **死** _命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死** _命命命_ **死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命_  
_命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死** _命命_ **死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命_  
_命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死死死** _命命命命_ **死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命_  
_命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_  
_命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死** _命命_ **死**  
_命命命_ **死死死死** _命命命命命命命_ **死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死** _命_ **死**  
_命_ **死死死死死死死死死** _命命命命命_ **死** _命命命_ **死死死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死死** _命_  
**死死死死死死死死死死** _命命_ **死** _命命命命_ **死死死死死死死死死** _命命_ **死** _命命命命命命命_ **死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死死** _命命_ **  
****死死死死死死死死死死死** _命_ **死死死死死** _命命命_ **死死死死死死死** _命命_ **死死死死死死死** _命命命命_ **死死** _命命命命命命命命命命命命命_ **死** _命命命命命_ **死死死** _命命_ **死** _命命_

**:**

**死**... Shi... Death...

The word waves incessantly through my mind, only interrupted by the intermittent sound of the crackling inferno raging all around me.

It is a concise statement to what will become of me very shortly.

Yet this dreary sensation is nothing new to me anymore.

The novelty of experiencing this type of horror wears off astonishingly fast I'm finding out.

One you feel when your demise hangs right above you, like a guillotine's blade awaiting its descent.

My vision is blurred both by the tears streaming freely through my face and the black smoke steadily building up around me.

Unsurprisingly, the latter also makes it excruciatingly hard to breath properly, my throat already aching and swollen due to the lack of air.

Blood trickles from the various wounds in my body and I can still feel its damp warmth despite the blaze.

Yet, it's not the prospect of a fiery death that scares me the most.

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

The sound of heavy footsteps hitting the ground, getting louder with each subsequent one.

Someone walking through the raging hell, getting closer.

That's what I'm truly afraid off.

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

An ominous shadow projected on the wall next to me flickers, surrounded by shades of yellow, orange and red, looming over me.

I turn my head to the side, so I can look at its source.

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

It stands there, approaching.

A darken spectre, encircled but unscathed by the raging flames, dancing on its metallic skin as if obeying its commands.

It resembles a person at first glance, a man if the shape of its body is any indication, but it's nothing but a malicious ruse, a travesty of what a human being is.

'He' is something that should not exist in this world.

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

Demon.

There's no other word my terrified psyche can conjure up to describe what's in front of me.

A walking sin against nature.

I'm looking at an entity from the deepest pits of oblivion.

Its eyeless gaze, devoid of any soul, pierces through the cindery shroud to meet my own.

It wants to kill me... and in his hand it holds the instrument of my end.

A sword.

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死死死死死死死** **死** **死** **死**

It's so beautiful.

I can't help but to be entranced by the sight, the fire reflecting on its surface as if the steel was burning.

A lyrical demise at the hands of such an anachronistic weapon, given how inconsequential my short life ultimately was.

Struck down by such metallic elegance given shape, wielded by a force of nature I cannot comprehend nor accept the existence of.

I somehow feel unworthy of such death.

 **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死** _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ * _thump_ ** _thump_ * _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ _命_ **死** **死** **死** **死** **死死死死死死**

It pauses, looking down at me.

I know what it sees. Someone who's about to die... someone who has come to accepted his fate.

After all the desolation, all the death I witnessed, mine seems like a release.

An escape from the unbearable anguish.

To do otherwise, seems cruelly unfair.

Let it come then.

"No."

The hellish spirit speaks.

A reverberating, almost mechanical, voice echoes through the scorching air.

It raises the weapon close to its face then lowers the thin blade, the tip pointing at my chest.

Its hangs close enough that I'm able to caress it, using the last remains of my strength to lift my arm.

Words form unconsciously…

_—Trace ON_

I feel the vermillion metal puncturing my heart, setting it on fire.

/\

\/

Shirou's eyes shot wide open, and his world became but a void of white.

His body altogether inert for several instants afterwards, he was left alone with nothing but the exceptionally bright moonlight bathing his surroundings. Finally rousing himself from his drowse, he rose from the admittedly uncomfortable position he had fell asleep in, slumped sideways against a cold metal radiator much to his neck's grievance.

The first thoughts were of home, the small rickety shed where he had fallen asleep on a multitude of occasions while repairing one the many appliances he had promised to fix, half-expecting to find Sakura or Taiga next to him. His fellow colleague would've come to see if he was alright and then warmly reprimand him for dozing off in such a place, during winter no less, needlessly worrying herself that her Senpai was overly exerting himself. His freeloading neighbor and, more importantly, homeroom teacher would just growl at him grumpily, demanding that he feed her breakfast. Both meant good, each in their own way.

But as his eyes adjusted to the ambient glow, he found himself in one of his school's classrooms instead.

_Weird. What am I still doing here?_

He recalled the Student Body Association (that's to say, Issei) requesting the assistance of the Academy's unofficial go-to repairman earlier in the morning. Emiya Shirou, _Homurahara's brownie_ (his favorite nickname), naturally acceded to the given request, applying his expertise on that particular broken heater that required his school-renowned 'magic touch' every odd week or so. Immersing wholeheartedly in his afterschool work as usual, he had merely lost track of the time, he figured. Still, for him to fall asleep in such a manner was downright strange. Checking the wall clock, several hours remained until his usual bedtime and he hadn't exerted himself particularly hard that day to justify the sudden somnolence.

_That dream again. The great fire…_

That was what came off as the most bizarre though. No… alarming would be the more proper term. That nightmare, haunting him ever since that fateful day ten years ago, had become a more recurrent visitor lately, and with each passing night it became less hazy, more lifelike. All the destruction, all the death, all the pain… a memory he would be forever cursed to relive, until the end of his life. Yet…

_Peace._

Shirou felt abnormally relaxed, like he had awoken from a pleasant dream. Whatever serenity remained after he opened his eyes, swiftly dissipated however. To think some dark corner of his psyche had somehow taken solace in such desolation… that alone made him restless, abhorred. The very notion that he was becoming desensitized to such an horrific event frightened him nearly as much as the experience itself did.

"Best I go home, get some rest." — his echoing voice did little to soothe the deep-seated fear he had.

Nevertheless, it was high time he got back. Taiga would probably be concerned about his absence, and dangerously starving due to the lack of a cooked dinner to boot, and some extra hours of sleep would likely do him some good at any rate.

A foreboding sensation, an erroneous atmosphere, hounded him as he walked through the deserted hallways on his way to Student Body room to drop off the utility tools he borrowed prior. The air was utterly listless, too cold even for that time of the year, saturated by a profound muteness. Looking outside, he observed the radiant moon, but even that was… _wrong._

" _Wrong."_

It was under its light that, by pure chance, Shirou happen to spot someone down in the courtyard through the corridor window. Unrecognizable at first, it wasn't until he noticed two distinctive pigtails and a red jacket blowing in the wind he was able to identify the individual.

_Tohsaka?_

That was undoubtedly Tohsaka Rin, Homurahara's perfect honor role student from 2A, the untouchable ice queen of the Academy (according to Issei). Why she would risk such hard-earned reputation by trespassing on school grounds that late at night, Shirou could not fathom, but she wasn't a person to act without a proper motive, even if this behavior went against what he found characteristic of her. He continued to descend the staircase heading to the ground floor, stopping between flights to check if she was still there. Not once did she move, smack in the middle of the school's large central clearing, her poise ever so gracious as she impatiently awaited for something.

He wondered whether he should go try speaking with her, seeing the two never really did interact much beforehand. The few times they did, she was mostly preoccupied with Issei and he just so happen to be around at the time, more often than not having to support his friend against the unmistakably superior wordsmith. Though aware he might be intruding where he had no business to, Shirou still felt a responsibility to provide any assistance she might need. At the very least he could offer his lending hand, even if she ultimately rebuffed his help.

_What the…?_

It was when he exited the main building that any semblance of normality vanished. Tohsaka remained in place, her eyes no longer wandering around aimlessly, instead fixed on the rooftop. In front of her, doing the same, was now a man… no, that wasn't a man, a human being even. He only had the ostensible makeup of one, same as the demon from his dream. Shirou could sense the sheer foreignness his mere presence commanded despite the distance between them, not to mention the fact that he didn't even notice him approaching her on the way down. Both were talking, not each other but rather to what they were gazing at. Although the exact words were lost on him, there was a clear-cut confrontational tone to them.

He turned his head just in time to catch another figure plunging from the rooftop onto the courtyard, landing without a scratch and ready for a fight judging by the way she (this one was discernibly female) brandished the two bronze weapons in each hand. The man, blocking Tohsaka's path with his arm, put himself further in-between the woman and her, urging the latter to back away in the same manner a bodyguard would. Whatever doubt was left about the otherworldly nature of the unfolding scene, him materializing a large square-headed lump hammer out of thin air put the final nail in its coffin.

Enraptured, Shirou got as close as he would allow himself, hoping the row of bushes next to the entrance would provide an adequate cover.

"A question first, if you would give me that courtesy." — the man, who came off as a barbarian from a snowy coldland up north ( _any north_ _really_ ), asked.

"Do tell." — in sharp contrast, the spear-wielding woman struck him as far more regal, her attire and skin complexion suggesting she was from around the Near East if he had to make an educated guess.

"Answer me this. Are you just in the dark as to where in the Gods name we ended up in?" — the Amazon stayed silent — "Well... good to know I'm not the only one." — but the Northerner got his answer anyway.

 _Waiting_ … they observed one another … _waiting_ … neither face betraying an ounce of emotion … _waiting_ … an unambiguous sign that they were about to battle … _waiting…_ a knack he had picked up from Taiga's kendo lessons … _waiting…_ the man's combat pose was relaxed … _waiting…_ maintaining but a loose grip on the bulky hammer … _waiting…_ the woman's seemed more professional … _waiting…_ sideways with her lance concealed behind her back … _wait-_

_*clink*_

...a clash. In the time it took for his lungs to empty, the two entities clashed only to quickly return to the same stances as before, as if nothing had transpired. He barely had time to breathe-in before their struggle resumed.

Shirou could barely perceive the two beings' battle, unfeasibly quick, like a video on fast forward, defying all common comprehension. The ground exploded at the northern man beck and call, responding in unison to each vigorous hit of his hammer, giving the Amazon some pause as she avoided the craggy obelisks that continually sprouted from the ground. The exotic woman moved in a way no human could ever mimic, dexterously leaping and dodging the earthly blitz, writhing herself into impossible shapes, and attacking from inconceivable angles.

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

Despite an early advantage, Tohsaka's escort soon lost the initiative, buried in a veritable avalanche of nimble strikes. The Amazon was little more than a blur around the Northerner who was having trouble in parrying her likewise dazzling blows. Tohsaka herself simply stood by from the sidelines, observing the evolving match with keen interest. If she feared for her companion, she hid it well.

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

His heart skipped a beat everytime their weapons collided. This was something he shouldn't be witnessing. Sunken beneath an aura of forbiddenness, Shirou's breathing devolved into an erratic fit, his brain pounding the interior of his skull relentlessly. The rest of his body trembled and suffocated under the increasingly stuffy clothes, drenched in sweat.

The moment his chest compressed the most, however, was when the Amazon's soaring shield slung itself towards Tohsaka, who had closed her eyes. Whichever it was that stopped him from jumping in then and there, his fear or his common sense, Shirou silently cursed it. Fortunately, it soon became clear that it wasn't going to do her any harm, merely hovering around her harmlessly, leaving his colleague quite perplexed. Distracted as he was, he barely got to see the Northerner turning the tables on his opponent, securing a solid hit courtesy of a giant stone boot erupting from the soil.

"Rather rough of you, hitting me in such a fashion." — she addressed him, with a not-so-subtle hint of lechery peppering both her dialogue and body language, as she stood up in her levitating shield — "Pity we have to wrap it up so soon. I've only been tasked with gauging my opponents abilities, regrettably."

"Real shame." — the Northerner answered back. Despite his opponent's vehement motioning throughout their battle, he was evidently the most worn out of two for some reason.

"Besides..." — the Amazon veered her head to the side — "...it seems we have an unwanted spectator."

Her grinning black eyes meeting Shirou's.

/\

\/

Little of what transpired immediately after being ratted out had a chance to sink in, his mind in such a deep panic it could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone memories. Shirou simply ran, driven by the basest of primal urges to survive, away from the pure murderous intention faster than his legs allowed. The last image he had registered was a glance of both Tohsaka and her bodyguard's surprised reaction, as, perhaps acting on instinct, he rushed back indoors. Even in his state, he knew there was no way he could outrun that woman out in the open, his best bet being to either hide or lose her in the main school building.

But in the end…

"Were you ever thought that's crude to peep on others' affairs?" — it proved to be a futile endeavour — "Though, it must be said, I'm thoroughly impressed. You're quite the dashing young buck, trotting away so fast."

"W-What do you want with me?" — face-to-face with such an imposing creature, trapped, his voice was that of a whimpering child.

"A pointless question, boy. The answer is already known to you, I see it carved in your face. The absolute terror of perceiving that which you cannot grasp." — she descended the sole flight of stairs that stood between them, calmly. Her prey wasn't going to flee.

"Then why!? Why do want to kill me!? I don't understand…"

"Because you've stumbled onto something you shouldn't have, cursed the luck the Gods imparted on you. Blame them, if you must." — a pity-filled stare — "For what it's worth, I would rather not do this, truly. Killing an innocent leaves a terribly sour taste in one's mouth. Such a waste."

"…" — what else could he say? Beg? Bargain? Deceive? She was like an hallucination, incomprehensible. How could measly words dissuade a being like that?

"Alas…" — raising her arm, with her spear's shaft coiled around it — "…I was ordered not to leave any witnesses." — she gently touched his forehead with her index finger — "I'll make it quick. You won't feel anything, I promise."

No comfort was found in those words. Staring down into the barrel of a loaded gun, under his killer's eyes, Shirou drifted back to the dream he had just a shortly while ago. The remembrance of ten years past. A miracle saved his life then, where so many others perished in his stead, a burden he carried since. Was that why he felt so calm? Were the fates simply correcting that mistake? It would only make sense that it be mended through a similarly inexplicable mean.

He wandered… stabbed through the head, or through the heart. Which would hurt the most?

He would not have the opportunity to find out.

*dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd…*

Akin a mousetrap's hammer, the nearby section of the stairway sprung upwards in an arc, then downwards right towards where Shirou and his attacker were standing.

*…uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…*

That brass shield of hers quickly placed itself in front of the descending flight, causing the concrete to harmlessly shatter upon impact.

*…CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!*

Without thinking twice, Shirou did has the booming voice instructed. As soon as he dived onto it, the hallway floor turned into a literal tidal wave, surfing atop of which was the northern man, coming in swinging. The Amazon only had time to extend her weapon's shaft in front of her before she was hammered by the equivalent force of a speeding locomotive and lobbed outside through the corridor window.

"y…u …ka… …id!? …ey! h…y! …a…k t… …e! k…d!?" — Shirou's ears rang painfully loud due to the crashing metal and the shrilling crackle of the shifting ground. Only when his shoulders were shaken that he managed to make sense of what his rescuer was saying — "Kid, you alright!? Anyone in there, hello!?"

"I-I-I…" — barely able to sit back up, he could only look up at the Northerner empty-handed — "…you…"

"Cutting it a bit too close, I know, I know. Apologies for that. Still, made it on time, didn't I?" — he was similar to her, an esoteric abnormality, yet authentic in his relief — "You hanging yourself in there? I imagine this whole experience must be a little confounding."

"All this… what's going on?" — a mind brimming with so many question, the most pertinent of which revolved around Tohsaka's involvement, particularly her relation with this outlander — "Tell me, please…"

"Oh, this? It's a… a…" — the Northerner struggled to come up with an explanation — "…a dream. Yes, a dream! All but a simple figment of your wild, wild imagination."

"A dream?" — Shirou almost wanted to believe such a flimsy lie.

"Yes kid, a dream! An inmost tapestry woven inside your head, nothing else." — he reiterated — "I'm a friend, you can trust me."

"I don't know you. I never seen you before." — he wasn't buying it, even if the man did save his life — "Who… what are you even?"

"Me? I told you, I'm your friend." — his savior was dead-set in sticking to his guns — "Like those you come up with during your boyhood years, you see. Usually cast aside around the time one suddenly finds girls appealing."

"And that woman? What is she suppose to be then?" — he couldn't tell why, but he continued to go along with his 'imaginary friend' contrived narrative. _Morbid curiosity, perhaps?_

"Her… her-her-her… Oh, her! She's the… man-ifestation of an erstwhile lover's scorn." — a snap of the fingers punctuated his 'eureka' moment — "That's why she trying to kill you… figuratively. Women can be quite vengeful spitfires at times, can't they?"

"I-I never even had a girlfriend my whole life." — faulty psychoanalysis aside, the way all that petrifying tension went up in smoke was something to gawk at.

"(Gods help me.)" — he vented in a murmur — "Then, she's the-the-the… reflection of your heaped up carnal unfulfillment, there!"

"What!?" — the uncanniness seeped in anew, though for wildly different reasons this time around.

"Aye, this is actually just one of those lively lust-laden dreams kids your age have all the time. The whole ordeal were she's trying to impale you with a pointy lance is like an outlandish allegory. For your yearnings." — no matter how he could construe it, nothing about the present situation depicted any credible motif in any way common with those. _Though Tohsaka's here too…_

"That doesn't make any sense." — the utter ludicrousness, the pure surrealism of the route their conversation was taking… _maybe I am still dreaming like he's saying._

"Why? Do you happen to be one of those sword-swallower types? Cause it would be really awkward at this point to avow that I'm the reflection of your-"

He (thankfully) cut himself off, as the two caught a glimpse of a yellowish glint in the starry sky.

_*clang*_

Reacting faster, the Northerner raised a large slab of cement that burst out of the ground right in front of Shirou.

_*crack*_

The instant after, the sharp pointy end of a brass blade popped out from his side with a strident crunch, aimed straight at his head.

"Get ou-!"

_*smack*_

The Amazon got her long sought payback from earlier, executing a textbook missile dropkick, by hopping into the end of her spear's shaft then springing off of it, propelling the northerner against the wall and into the classroom behind it. She wasted no time, placing her left hand where the spearhead was sticking out making the lance twist through the entry hole. Like a snake, it slithered past her neck and into her right arm, again pointed down at Shirou's head, who still stood flabbergasted on the floor.

"Like I was saying, this won't hur-"

_*smack*_

Before the spear could shoot out, however, the entire jagged pillar jerked and sped off to the left, pushing her all the way down the hall.

"And like _I_ was saying, you damnable woman." — sliding the door open in anger, the man twice his savior walked back to the hallway fuming. When Shirou tried to speak up, he swiftly interjected — "Get out of here, kid. Go home. Go to bed. Go to sleep… and forget any of this happened. It's just an unpleasant nightmare, best disregarded come the morning."

Shirou saw the amazon shooting forward again…

_*clang*_

…and the entire mid-section of the second floor corridor crumbling, its walls folding inwards like crushed sheets of paper, impeding her progress.

"NOW GODS DAMN YOU!"

/\

\/

He wasn't sure how long it took, but the blazing sensation in his leg muscles and lungs seemed to tell him that he had beaten his previous record, in all likelihood. Also unknown, was for how long he had been lying collapsed on the sitting room floor, staring vacantly at the ceiling. The house was empty, which was good. After what just happened, the last thing Shirou wanted to do at that moment was to have to explain himself to Taiga, Sakura or anyone else really. He desperately needed some time to collect his thoughts.

_Fire… Demon… Sword… Moonlight… Cold… Metal… School… Tohsaka… Colleague… Help… Man… Northerner… Woman… Amazon… Inhuman… Spear… Hammer… Duel… Clash… Impossible… Overwhelming… Terrifying… Transgression… Exposed… Flee… Assailed… Cornered… Saved… Talk… Absurd… Run… Home…_

…none of it made sense. He rewound the convoluted chain of events over and over, and over, and over… a frantic attempt to find some overlap with the real world. A vain exertion. His intellect was wholly lacking the capacity to process the information it had garnered.

Had it truly been a simple dream, like the Northerner tried ( _read: spectacularly failed_ ) to persuade him throughout their brief interaction? Couldn't it in fact be so? The lie was more believable, a simpler answer to all the uncertainty that sprung up the more thought he put into analyzing what transpired. He desired nothing but to throw himself in his futon and fall into a slumber, like the man asked for. A sweet release from the punishing exhaustion, both physical and mental.

Shirou could not accept it though, he could not delude himself, much as he wished to. What he watched back at the Academy was the absolute truth. Was it the sort of reality Kiritsugu had so vaguely spoken of those bygone years? Was it why he seemed so reluctant to talk about it? To shelter him, to protect him from such a perilous world inhabited by those behemoths?

The questions kept pouring in, one thread of thought unraveling into many, robbing him of the rest he yearned. His brain was a machine overheating. Tiny gears inside it turned and turned ceaselessly, howbeit spent, each revolution accompanied by a harrowing click. Late did he realized that the ringing was not solely coming from his head…

_*ding*_

_*ding*_

_*ding*_

The soft tune of the Emiya Residence's Barrier sounding off. A detection mechanism Kiritsugu had installed to warn of intruders with harmful intentions, now exposed such a presence within the limits of the property. It wasn't hard to guess who it was.

_Her._

The Amazon was there, after his life. The Northerner had either been defeated or she managed to evade him long enough to track her target all the way back to residence. It mattered little. This time around there would be no escape, no last-second salvation, Shirou suspected. Still, the trespasser did not know where exactly within the expansive dwelling he was yet, giving him a small interval he could use to prepare himself before she inevitably found him. He began to rummage through the room for something, anything he could use to defend himself, but the more he did the more the hopelessness of his plight sank in.

" _I was ordered not to leave witnesses."_ — her words.

She was fixated on killing him, to carry out her orders till the end. The only way he would ever survive was if he triumph over her first. But… _How?_

Shirou recalled her fight with the northerner. That man commanded the very earth itself and still proved only a even match to her. How could he possibly do better than that? Just… _How!?_ _How!? HOW!?_

In an outburst of frustration, he struck the kitchen stand with both fists, inadvertently knocking down one of the many cutlery utensils resting atop of it, grabbing his attention. Picking up the long serrated knife from the floor near his feet, the memories surged.

As a small child, the feeling of waving around knives and any other object remotely similar to a blade, pretending they were swords of legend which he used to punish nonexistent evildoers. Whether these were from the days after or even before the fire that took the lives of his previous family, the entirety of who he was before, Shirou could not remind himself.

What he did commit to memory was when he got apprehended by Kiritsugu while playing around with the (his) bread knife, at some undefined point after moving in with him. Much to his confusion, the harsh reproach he gave stemmed not from the inherent danger such reckless antics posed for his adopted son. When the boy asked him why then, he said:

" _You chose it as your weapon, but brandish it without purpose, to indulge your fantasy. A true hero must not do that. Always wield it as a means to help others, never for your own selfish reasons, never without care."_

Shirou decided to take those words to heart, as he often did when it came to his foster father. There would be no more playing around, he would learn how to wield his chosen tool of justice properly. The next day he went and waited for Taiga, captain of the Kendo club and regional champion back then, at his future school's gate and begged on his knees, right there and then, for her to train him.

Thinking about those happier times helped him calm down a bit. Grasping that same bread knife, he began applying the old-man's other important lesson he had imparted before passing away five years ago.

— _Trace ON_

_Basic quality, analyze_

The underlying structure of the instrument was easy to visualize; butt, tang, rivets, handle, bolster, heel, spine, edge, tip. Stainless steel and rosewood coupled together so smoothly.

_Basic quality, reinforce_

Applying Reinforcement to the metal blade and wooden handle was a great deal more difficult, especially under duress. But those strenuous nightly sessions he had in the old shed and all those broken appliances fixed by his 'magic touch' bore their fruits.

Magical energy poured out of him unto the small object in his right hand, like water gushing from a pipe breach. And right before it threaten to tear itself open…

 _Trace OFF_ _—_

Everything went better than expected, all things considered. As it stood, he appraised that the final product could easily cut through any regular flesh, bone even if he swung it hard enough. In any normal circumstances, he would've very good odds of emerging victorious from any form of melee combat. Unfortunately for him, all commonality had ceased to exist the fateful moment he bumbled into some supernatural joust between two living maelstroms. One of which he was to contend with in a few moments.

Shirou could never hope to win, not in a direct confrontation anyway. The Amazon was stronger than him by a unsurpassable margin, and both knew this. To mount a defense against her would prove fruitless in the long run. His sole hope was to finish the fight in a lone strike, take advantage of her underestimation with a surprise attack. He would have but a single window of opportunity to execute it.

As he caught sight of her shield's silhouette hovering from the other side of the shoji, he steeled himself for what was to come.

/\

\/

She casually strolled inside the sitting room, politely sliding the shoji open rather than barging in. The airborne aegis droned close to its owner, her right hand gripping the fully protracted spear. Her feet made no noise has she stepped on the tatami, nor any part of her body for that matter. The amazon was almost a non-being, unlike back in the Academy, only his eyes confirmed that she was indeed there. Perhaps she counted that he would be cowering in a corner somewhere, as any sane person would.

He wasn't.

Carefully timing her entrance, Shirou lunged from the kitchen counter, for the lack of better high ground, from the left, hoping the time she would take to turn around and aim her weapon would be enough to carry out his strike. The woman seemed mildly amused by his audacity, not bothering to moving from her spot and letting her shield take the blow meant for her.

_*pang*_

Despite having wrapped his non-dominant hand in a kitchen cloth, makeshifted into a boxing glove by a quick and crude application of Reinforcement, Shirou felt his knuckle bones fracturing due to the force he put in the right arched swing. The exact moment it connected, he drew his left arm, 'sword' in hand, and slashed down at her throat, all while still in mid air.

~ _schwing_ ~

The razor-sharp blade closed in. Mere inches away from the neck…

"What were you expecting, really?"

…she clutched it, using only her left thumb and pinky.

"An admirable effort nonetheless, boy." — a twitching motion of her two fingers, and the knife was effortlessly snapped in twain.

* _smack_ *

Her requital was a swift kick to the gut, not a jab from her lance like he predicted.

* _smash_ *

It still hurt like hell, both the punt and the ensuing collision with the kitchen counter he had leaped from. Shirou keeled over, moaning in pain. He estimated that the damage done to him was equivalent to that of a car running him over at 50 km/h. Just enough to keep him in a near-death misery.

"A lesser man would've been groveling in fear, it must be said." — a lesser man probably had more marbles — "Be proud of yourself. You chose to fight against something you cannot possibly beat. You chose to stand against your demise defiantly, till the very end. For that you've my deference."

"…not done…" — quelled by the stygian surge coursing through his body, her praise rang hollow.

"Bravado only takes you so far, boy." — she was correct, fancy talk didn't suffice — "Or may I ask, what else do you have to add?"

Sometimes, even a true hero had to employ guile in equal measure.

"Condiments of the house."

"Pard-?" — he didn't what he had more trouble believing — "…!"— that throwing the black pepper shaker at her face actually worked in the first place, or that he precede it with that puny one-liner, worthy of a cheesy (even for his standards) old-timey superhero comic.

Regardless, with his assailant temporary blind, and laughing apparently, by the cloud of spice, he managed to slip away from the sitting room. Shirou darted to the garden, heading towards the kendo room. He was in desperate need of a new weapon and the training swords stored away there were the most viable option.

An engulfing shadow caused him to stop and roll to the side without thinking. Like an Olympic diver entering the water feet first, the Amazon eviscerated the ground where he stood just a moment earlier, her spear extending down from her leg. His path to the dojo cut off, the last remaining avenue lead him to the old storehouse. His attacker pursue him at her leisure, entertained by the figurative fighting her target was putting up.

She cut him off again by the shed's entrance, leaving Shirou no alternative but to hurl himself inside through the small window. Such brazen action yielded him a dozen or so glass cuts, mostly in his hands and arms as he shielded his face, and a nasty tumble onto the hard pavement. In an almost comical contrast, the amazon simply opened the creaking door, calmly stepped inside and closed it behind her, all as he writhed on the ground trying to regain his composure.

"Bold and witty." — she gave out an honest laugh, still rubbing her eyes — "Between such traits and the rather alluring looks, I take it you make women's hearts swoon all over the land."

Shirou couldn't really respond to that remark. Aside from the current aphonic agony, she was starting to sound like a fully-satiated Taiga, with all her raving comments of him being 'prime husband material', a little too close for comfort. Why would anyone fancy him a heartthrob was beyond him.

"You're making yourself quite endearing to me, quite arduous to kill. To deprive the world of such a budding potential because of a rotten twist of the fates. Perhaps…" — in contemplation, she retracted her weapon — "Tell me, boy. How would you feel coming with me?"

"…?" — her whole demeanour changed in jarring fashion, becoming far more easygoing, friendly even — "…why would…? You want to kill me…"

"I do not wish to end your life, boy." — she ambled closer, with not a sliver of tangible hostility to her demeanor — "I'm purely doing what I was instructed to. That's why I'm presenting you with this opportunity. So I won't have to."

"I don't understand." — a common theme throughout that night.

"I can tell you possess a natural aptitude with Augmentation spellcraft. Though, as of now, it stands raw, unrefined, in need of a teaching hand. The shoddy, yet exemplary attempt at that blade is proof of my assumption. Mayhap my Master could take you in as an apprentice. I reckon he wouldn't be hard to persuade. A man of his character seems to have an eye for your kind of innate affinity." — at arm's length, she crouched down to meet his eyes at the same level. Her piquant scent seemed to have a different savor to it under a tender gaze — "Your resilience is also cause for intrigue. Back at the house, I made certain I struck you with enough force that you wouldn't be able to move anymore, but here we are. Such rapid recovery is uncommon for an untrained sorcerer. The injuries you sustained right now are nearly cured already."

To his surprise, her observation was indeed correct. Glancing at his wounds, Shirou saw the tears in his flesh healing at a visible pace, as if an unseen needle was stitching them up, the tiny translucent shards lodged in them being forcibly expelled by the regenerating tissue. The sting from her kick, while still there, was also fading away gradually.

"What say you then? Mine is a fair proposition, given the alternative. Become my ally, be granted both your life back and the opportunity to sharpen your skills, to learn more of the vast totality of creation you've been blinded to thus far, so I can cease my bounded aggression." — she extended a helping hand to Shirou, a seal of concord — "And above all else, small as your role might be, you shall have a chance to partake in this most consecrated of rituals. The Holy Trial of Seven." — the alien ceremony for which his life was forfeit, and that now she was inviting him into…

…to know more of the realm Kiritsugu had only allowed the sparsest of glimpses.

…to give the life his old-man saved a greater purpose, for all those that he could not.

…to obtain the power to become a Hero of Justice in his stead, like he had promised.

_The Hero..._

"This Master of yours… was he the one that commanded you to kill me?" — _That's right…_

"Not you in particular." — her fingers clenched slightly — "Just those unfortunate enough to happen upon the Trial by a mischance."

"For what reason?" — _…to allow myself to nearly fall…_

"To protect its sanctity, as per the rules of those who created it. The prize is too much important, it must remain a secret from the unaccomplished." — she elucidated him.

"And Tohsaka? What role does she have?" — … _the fool I am._

"Tohsaka? Ah, the girl the Maiden chose to patron. She's a Master like mine. That man you saw me fighting was her Champion. She abides by the same principles…" — the amazon's tone turned to disapproval, to his contentment — "…or at least she ought to. I know not why she would instruct him to protect you, even if you two are acquainted."

"Because she's not a bad person." — cold, aloof, haughty, yes. But not a bad person — "You ask me to join you… your Master. I don't know what this prize you speak of is, or why you seek it. But if anyone is willing to callously slay innocents for it… then it has no worth whatsoever to me."

"Boy…"

"I reject you offer. I will not aid your Master… I will _never_ help such a person, whoever he may be. One that would sacrifice his justice to win, by committing such vile crime. Never." — Emiya Shirou would not allow it — "I will stop him…" — he looked her dead in the eyes, and, for a fraction of a second, she was taken aback — "… _and I will stop you!_ "

He got back up, taking several faltering steps backwards in an effort to regain his equilibrium. Having grabbed a discard plastic pipe that happen to roll near his hand, he again tried to administer Reinforcement on his new make-do weapon, but he wasn't capable. The magical energy didn't flow to it, there was an obstruction in its path.

"Such furious passion in those radiant eyes." — an applauding smirk — "Very well then! I'll allow you the honor… I shall give you the fitting death you so deserve!" — a poised lance — "Perish on your feet!"

Caution thrown to the wind, he forced the familiar hot iron rod down his spine carelessly.

His mouth was filled with steaming blood, coughed up.

His body stopped responding, breaking apart.

His innermost self was being corroded, wiped out.

Amid the catastrophic strain he was putting himself through, Shirou behold it once last time. The visualization from his reverie: the demon's sword.

He saw it.

_I need it._

He coveted it.

_I need it._

He ached for it.

_I need it._

He craved it.

_I need it._

He hungered for it.

_I need it._

He desired it.

_I need it._

He lusted for it.

_I need it._

He required it.

_I need it._

He yearned for it.

_I need it._

He fancied it.

_I need it._

He thirsted for it.

_I need it._

He wished it.

_I need it._

He longed for it.

_I need it._

He **WANTED** it.

— _Trace ON_

Words unknown, a foreign tongue, invaded his psyche. Faster than his broken down mind could process them, uttered regardless.

 _DasMaterialistausSilberundEisenDerGrundsteinistausSteinunddemGroßherzogdesVertragDerAhnistmeingroßerMeisterSchweinorgSchutzgegeneinenheftigenWindSchließalleToregehausderKronezirkulierdieGabelungnachdemKönigFüllFüllFüllFüllFüllEswirdfünfmalwiederholtNuristesdievolleZeitgebrochen_ _Satz_ _DuüberläßtallesmirmeinSchicksalüberläßtallesdeinemSchwertDasbasiertaufdemGralantwortwenndudiesemWillenunddiesemVernunftgrundfolgstLiegtdasGelübdehierIchbindieGütederganzenWeltIchbindasBösederganzenWeltDubistderHimmelmitdreienWortseelenKommausdemKreisderUnterdrückungderSchutzgeistderBalkenwaage_ _!_

_~hisssssss~_

Her spear sang its whistling tune…

:

:

:

:

:

:

:

_*clink*_

…to be silenced by the single most beautiful of reverberations.

"What's this!?" — his attacker's blow was swatted away by an invisible force. The outline of a third figure now stood in the middle of complexly drawn circle on ground, in-between the two, obscured by the column of bright crimson smoke — "How is this possible!? There cannot be an eigh-!"

_*clink*_

It struck again, with a stabbing motion. The flying shield stopped it, but it did little to help its owner.

" **Invisible Air: Release!** " — as a concentrated gust of wind, a scaled-down tornado, knocked both her and the buckler away anyhow, and him bottom first to floor anew.

An eerie silence fell upon the small worn-out storehouse, amplified by the moonlight that shone through the large hole left by the tremendous power that had pushed back his foe and dispersed the thick steam. Shirou found himself again thinking about that dream, how similar yet contrary the situation he found himself in was.

Laying immobile on the ground, looked down upon by an entity that most definitely wasn't human. Unlike the demon however, the petite woman that stood in front of him hadn't a hint of malice to her, nor his fiendish visage, surrounded by pale blue and silver rather than vivid red and gold.

Observing him expectantly, she addressed the young man in awe of her existence.

"I ask of you: Are you my Master?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediate apologies if the kanji wall in the beggining ended up a mess, I kinda just wanted to try something out. (That's suppose to be a fire BTW).
> 
> As for the story proper, I realize that I might be hugging a bit too close to the canonical sequence of events, but for now I can only promise that it will eventually diverge big time not-so-far down the road. Until we get there, I'll try to tweak the proceedings a bit to add some variety and cut down the parts were I would only be paraphrasing what happens in the Visual Novel.
> 
> This part a bit shorter than the last mostly because of this, and I chose to end were it did since a) the last bit of dialogue just has a nice 'chapter end' feel to it and b) that way I can write what's coming next from a more interesting POV.
> 
> And, as always, leave a review if you enjoyed the story so far or have some criticism you would like me to know. You'll have my sincere thanks either way.
> 
> (I'll also answer any question you might have to the best of my ability, so don't hesitate in asking.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy.


	4. Arturia

Five hundred years after the coming of the savior of Man…

At a blood soaked field known then as Camlann…

The proud kingdom of Britain in ruin lies…

The great realm of knights left to agonize…

Lead into the abyss by the deceit of a sinful few…

Fractured by the many follies the noble accrue…

Torn apart as the crimson corpses that the ground litter…

A hill of flesh and metal left to turn the very earth bitter…

The crows above sing of a bountiful rust and rot feast…

Dead men taste all the same to such a black beast…

:

Close by does the moribund monarch rest…

Her own blood spilled atop the highest crest…

Carried from there by those handful left…

So that she could gaze at an horizon of life bereft…

Left to contemplate on the failure of her reign…

She realized she had lead into nothing but pain…

So to the Heavens she silently pleaded…

For a way to spare her people be conceded…

The consecrated artifact her life dedicated as a greater goal…

To bestow her with the Holy Grail in exchange for her worthless soul…

The World answered and she dreamt of a great contend…

A war of magi being fought in a foreign land at world's end…

:

She met those who sought to take the prize by force…

Each she would come to know in due course…

An arrogant bowman clad in nothing but the brightest gold…

Showering his enemies with his great treasures manifold…

A spearman gallant and knightly as she could be…

The unfortunate victim of intrigues he could not foresee…

A galloping conqueror that many realms took as his own…

And his loyal army to him well known…

A vile wizard mistaking her for another he once knew…

Whose deeds matched the horrors he could construe…

A troupe of murderers silent and black…

That emerge from the shadows to carry out their cowardly attack…

A deranged knight madly screaming her name…

That of his past liege for who he holds in blame...

The ill-fated sovereign of a country lost…

Which she sought to restore by the Grail whatever the cost...

And most befitting of her tragic story…

At the end she was deprived of her glory…

The great cup shattered by her own hand…

On the orders of the man who bore her brand…

Robbed of control she swung her sacred blade…

And awoke from her slumber again betrayed…

:

"Do you seek to right this wrong _…_?" — a voice to her spoke…

Amidst the dying fires and settling smoke…

"Another chance then, King of Knights _…_?" — the figure proposed through the veil…

If she still sought to do right where she had once failed…

"To save this realm _…_?" — as her life continued to wane…

She heard the call from the beyond again…

"Yes… I want… to…" — she answered same as before…

The King then closed her eyes and slept once more.

/\

\/

"It must be said… this night certainly is one full of marvels."

The other Servant, an opponent by virtue of her antagonistic presence, stood on the far side of the courtyard, mostly unscarred by the early blow. Their gaze firm, both Heroic Spirits perused one another, analyzing and sizing up their adversary. Unlike her, however, the ostensibly near-eastern woman appeared to be vehemently thrilled by the imminent confrontation they were to have, to an unsettling extent.

Nonetheless, Arturia Pendragon, King of Knights, kept her steadfast posture.

Behind her, in a familiar small shed, lied the young man that had become her Master just a moment ago, a deed equal parts unfeasible and mystifying to him judging by his first reaction to her manifestation. The exact circumstances of her summoning were lost to Arturia at this point, but they mattered little when an enemy close by. He was her Master, she was his Servant. The Command Spells branded into his left hand by the Grail were inimitable proof of their relation. She was duty bound to protect him to the best of her capacity and bring them both to victory in the War.

And so she would…

"The boy was quite the revelation already, but now…" — the foe began to -[lithely]- walk closer, her -[swanlike]- voice carried by the howling wind — "To disregard the sacred laws of the Seven themselves! Imagine that, a mere mortal! Barely a sorcerer and a man! Able to beckon forth an irregular to a Trial, of all things! He truly is something else entirely!"

"You will come no further!" — Arturia declared, further positioning herself between the woman and where her Master stood — "I shall be your opponent, Servant Lancer!"

"What did you say?" — Lancer stopped dead on her tracks, her expression a disturbing -[dainty]- mixture of elation and shock — "What did you call me just now!?"

"By the weapon you carry, one can presume that you are the Servant of the Lance." — she deduced — "Am I mistaken by any chance?"

"And you? Which of the Seven are you then? Tell me. Tell me!" — the woman fancied to know post haste.

"I am the Servant of the Sword, Saber." — the Servant answered back, only to be met by an hysterical -[yet beguiling]- laughter, to her never-ending puzzlement — "Why does it amuses you so?"

"Because, _irregular_ , it means you are nothing like the rest of us. Sent by none of the Seven above… to battle for none." — she raised her lance, pointing at her accusingly — "You _are_ of this world! Just like he is."

"I do not understand. Were you not sent forth by the Holy Grail just as I?" — an unneeded question, there was absolutely no possibility that it could be otherwise. Yet…

"There. There it is." — her -[striking]- smile widened to a maddening grin — "There it is again. Even the name you bestow the prize we seek. Different than us… same as them."

 _What does she mean?_ Arturia considered probing Lancer further on the issue, but felt that her queries would just be answered with more outwardly nonsense. For all she knew, this could all be an act to throw her off-balance before they fought. She opted to pay no more mind to her rambling.

"This changes things, you see. I was… 'tasked with scouting around the competition' by my Master, assigned nothing but to identify and test the strength of the remaining six Champions. But you… You are _not_ one of the Champions, that much is now obvious to me. Which means that, with you my dear…" — all signs of laxity in Lancer's stance vanished, the univocal sign that they were to battle — "…I don't have to hold back! You and me can go all the way through to the very end, till one lays dead! And after I dispatch you, I'll be taking the boy with me, whether he wants to or not! He's too much of a treasure-trove to simply abandon to another."

"Have at you then!" — a small part of her was simply glad she was done with the inane talk and sought to settle this as ordained.

"Oh… with pleasure!"

Exemplary of her classes extraordinary agility, Lancer erased the short space between the two in an instant, raring on securing the first attack. It was immediately evident to Arturia that the opposing Servant's strikes would not be those of an ordinary spearman, or spearwoman in this case. Her motioning, particularly the way she brandished her weapon (whose shaft demonstrated a great deal of elasticity), indicated that she could expect little in terms of orthodoxy from her opponent.

And indeed, though her right hand was poised to execute a piercing jab from her rear…

_Left arm, elbow._

_~hisssssss~_

…the spearhead came at her instead from the mid-joint of the other limb, she kept in a front cross guard. Just as she initially suspected, it seemed that the brass lance did not need any applied impetuous to its thrusts, only a set direction from which to shot forward as it flowed unhindered all over her -[magnificently sculpted]- body.

_*clink*_

Luckily for the Servant of the Sword, her Instinct managed to counteract the entailed unpredictability of such style of combat. She knocked aside Lancer initial jab with little trouble, who, certainly foreseeing this, dove into a spinning one-handstand. The spear retracted and quickly drove back at her again…

_Right leg, heel._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

Once…

_Left leg, knee._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

Twice…

_Left leg, big toe._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

Thrice…

_~schwing~_

_*clank*_

…before Arturia could finally answer in kind. The slash of her sword was intercepted by the flying shield, allowing its -[balletic]- owner to continue her offensive uninterrupted. Nay a moment wasted, a crouched Lancer looked up with an unnerving -[and seductive]- jolt of her…

_Head, tongue._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

_*smack*_

In near unison to her parry, the -[strapping]- woman planted her two feet into her adversary's chin while executing a bent arm back extension roll, giving no chance to move out of the away. Though sent temporarily reeling…

_~schwing~_

_*clank*_

…Arturia still managed to use the given impetus to pivot around and swing at her adversary once more, with the same result as before. The subsequent respite was short-lived, as Lancer again eliminated what little distance had been gained between them, resuming her limberly fleet -[and mesmeric]- onslaught.

These first couple of clashes proved to be the pattern that would keep repeating itself during the rest of their altercation. Lancer carried on her attacks…

_Left arm, pinky._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

…never once abating…

_Right arm, shoulder._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

…never once in the defensive…

_Right leg, knee._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

…never once ceding the initiative. Her -[eye-catching]- technique was that of an skilled dancer crossed with that of an expert contortionist. It reminded the King of the kind of itinerant circus performers she would often find entertaining the crowds promenading the bustling streets of her cities during important festivities.

_*smack*_

_*smack*_

What's more, Lancer didn't made use of her namesake weapon exclusively. Many times, she would add a seamless whirlpool of flogging -[powerful]- arms and -[stunning]- legs to the already intricate sequence of spear thrusts, adding further complications. Although, after that initial uppercut, the most diminutive of the two women was on the lookout for those as well, and the few that she was unable to dodge bounced off harmlessly of her armor pieces.

For her part, Arturia found herself increasingly restricted by her foe, able only to react to her assault. Her Instinct proved vital in keeping Lancer's overall maneuverability in check, thwarting the -[lovely]- woman's attempts to surround her from the sides and back, as well as ensuring she could counter her attacks before they even came. It was likely the other Servant would've scored a damaging blow at least once if not for that factor.

_~schwing~_

_*clank*_

Coupled with her chivalric proficiency in one-on-one duels, she did manage to put some offensive of her own as well, despite the fact that that airborne disk frustrated every single one of her few attempts.

_Right arm, ring finger._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

_Right shoulder._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

_~schwing~_

_*clank*_

_*smack*_

_Left arm, wrist._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

_*smack*_

_*smack*_

_*smack*_

_*smack*_

_~schwing~_

_*clank*_

_Left leg, middle toe._

_~hisssssss~_

_*smack*_

_*clink*_

_Left leg, ring toe._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

_Left leg, little toe._

_*smack*_

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

As their duel dragged on, neither had managed to score any meaningful impact, to which Lancer seemed perfectly content with. While Arturia was vying for a way to break the deadlock, her -[strong-minded]- opponent didn't seemed that interested in changing her tactics despite the insofar lack of success. Initially, she thought of it as persistence, bordering on simple -[gallant]- stubbornness, until another predicament soon arose…

_Left -[elegant]- arm…_

_~hisssssss~_

"-!"— she avoided being impaled by a narrow margin, as her intrinsic talent did not respond promptly enough to accurately predict from which joint her spear shot from. Attributing it to a bad break, Arturia carried on with the battle, but as she did…

_Right -[smooth]-leg…_

_~hisssssss~_

_-[curvesome]- Right bos…_

_~hisssssss~_

…the more and more did her Instinct become duller, hindered, unable to sense which exact route the next attack would come from. Although her high Luck picked up the slack, so to say, Arturia was mindful that even it would run out sooner or later as the battle prolonged itself. Unfortunately, this wasn't her only developing concern. Each motion of her sword, each Prana Burst boosted swing or parry, also consumed a great deal of her magical energy, the reserves of which were draining away abnormally fast.

_Right leg, knee._

_~hisssssss~_

_*clink*_

Sore muscles, dried lips, perspiring skin, ragged breath, blurring vision, unable to fight for much longer…

_-[robust]- Left leg…_

_~hisssssss~_

…and in an increasing sharper contrast, the -[lively]- woman she fought remained as -[charmingly]- spry as when their fight began, the furiosity of her -[comely]- movements notwithstanding.

_-[cuddly]- Rig…_

_~hisssssss~_

None was by chance.

 _That's her strategy!_ The Briton King at last had realized.

Lancer _didn't_ need to land a hit. She sought to win their contest through plain attrition, straining Arturia to the point she would be unable to continue combating further. Holding back just enough to keep her opposition constantly in the defensive, in a nonstop hustle to defend herself, never permitting a breather.

Such an ignoble, cowardly -[well calculated]- approach to combat, naturally infuriated the Heroic Spirit that came to embody the aesthetic concept of the knightly ideal. Still, it meant that she had no choice but to strike decisively, break the stalemate before the fatigue undid her…

_~schwing~_

_*clank*_

…which, ultimately, meant she had to somehow bypass her reflexive guard. The few times she had managed to retaliate, she gathered that the invisibility of her sword didn't faze it. Neither did the speed, being as blindingly fast as its owner, nor the force behind her blows, as it absorbed any and all kinetic and magical energy that struck it akin a sponge. Executing feints was also futile, as it was 'smart' enough to detect the intent put into each slash or stab motion, whether or not they were meant to hit Lancer.

Insurmountable as it seemed, however, it did have one exploitable flaw, she recalled. Envisioning a stratagem, a single decisive stroke that would end the duel, she bided for the perfect opportunity to present itself. All she needed would be another…

_Opening…_

_~schwing~_

She swung her hidden sword…

_Wait…_

…aiming at a -[gracefully]- swooping Lancer's head…

_Wait…_

…the shield zoomed in to intercept…

_Wait…_

…and as the metals were about to clash…

_Now!_

…it failed to catch it. A small release of Invisible Air was all she needed. Being airborne meant yielding to the capriciousness of breezes and gales alike afterall. A sudden, last second, shift in the wind current was sufficient to knock the spinning discus slightly off-course, enough for her sword to get past it.

It was a notion she inadvertently had begun to grasp having knocking both it and the Servant away from the shed instants after her summoning. Lancer, so -[justifiably]- confident on the reliability of her impenetrable guard and lulled by the rhythm of their battle, hadn't realized this, nor was she presently conscious of the blade closing in on her unimpeded…

"-!" — if not for but for the fleetest of glances she had of the radiant sword sheathed by the briefly dispersed Invisible Air.

Using her uncanny -[mesmerizing]- flexibility, Lancer bent her -[soft]- neck to the side in such a manner that she would've decapitated herself were she still a regular human being, avoiding the razor edge in the nick of time. Rather than carrying on with her -[dazzling]- assault, she instead -[strategically]- retreated to the far side of the courtyard under Arturia's keen observation, looking -[not very]- visibly distraught by the close call.

"Clever." — she acknowledged with a -[pleasant]- giggle, while strands of her -[silky]- raven hair were carried off by the winter zephyr — "A very clever trick, using that wind sorcery you brandish. One that won't I won't fall for twice, regrettably for you."

"It gives you pause still." — and a welcome one at that.

"Do not presume yourself, irregular." — the -[strong-willed]- woman sneered — "It is my intrigue that gives you this brief reprieve. I've seen but glimpses of a most beautiful light concealed within that veiling scabbard. What does it hide, I wonder? That you would cover such splendor so warily, so timorously? Perhaps you could regale me with more of it… none else shall see it after I vanquish you."

"The instant I reveal it will be the moment of your perdition." — she avowed.

"So sure of your sword's power… yet with nary a shade of hollow pride. Can it truly be that exquisite? Is it? Is it!?" — Arturia did not entertain her an answer — "Though, I do ponder. Will I even be able to recognize it? Perceive which it is? — her lips curled, as if a wicked idea was being conjured up in the depraved -[riveting]- depths of her mind — "Would _you_ …?"

"What do you babble on about now?" — the knight was at a loss to the woman's rambling musing… and her own request to explain it.

"Babble on? Have you not comprehended yet? How purblind you are in all of this?" — she derided with the same demeanour of a discouraged -[resolute]- teacher failing to get his lessons across.

"My course is well-marked, Servant Lancer. We must do battle, and I must emerge as the victor. So, if you were to cease with your empty language, I know not why we must waste further time." — she received a exasperated sighed as a response.

"Dumb girl." — she -[duly]- scoffed — "Granted, in all fairness, I am just as sightless as you are, if not more given _where_ we stand. But, if you do not wish to elucidate that obstinate head of yours by your lonesome, then allow me…" — the prana in the air froze — "…to enlighten you on the extent of your ignorance."

Her -[magnificent]- image began to distort due to the large quantity of magical energy accumulating in the lance, at the moment coiled around her -[strong]- right arm. With her opposite hand, the enemy Servant held her fully extended limb by the elbow, both for support and finer aim. Lancer was about to unleash her Noble Phantasm, Arturia understood right away. Her spear was to shot out as a bullet, judging by the otherwise unsuited -[fearsome]- throwing posture. A -[extremely]- fast projectile, -[awfully]- hard to dodge. But, as -[lethally]- dangerous as her -[unavoidable]- attack would be, it also presented an opening. By hurling her weapon at her, she would be unarmed in the moments after, presenting a chance she could explore perhaps.

The King of Knights awaited what was to come, readying herself to the best of her ability…

" **Tanatha Rhoyne…** "

Lancer spoke, unveiling the name of her precious tool.

_~hisssssss~_

The flat spearhead inflated like a balloon, pulsating as if it was a beating heart, hissing.

 _~hi_ _sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss~_

Its pitch got higher and higher…

_**~ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss~** _

…building up…

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

…until…

" **C-H-R-O-H-E-A T-H-A-I-Y-E-!-!-!** **"**

…release. 

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSSSSSSSSSS~** _

'||'

_**~SSS~** _

\||/

\/

As envisaged, her spear launched forward like a missile, leaving a supersonic trail in its wake. Already predicting such an attack, Arturia nonetheless sidestepped the inbound javelin just barely, such was its speed, having to resort to another burst from Invisible Air for extra impulse. As she did, however, another crucial variable had been left out of the equation, she soon realized. On the ground in front of her, another moon-bask silhouette, that of a black radiant star, was gradually unveiled as her own shadow accompanied her movement to the side. But, more importantly, the elongated outline of the hurled lance was heading straight towards it, as if to transfix the sun in splendor.

It hit Arturia then… _that_ was her true target.

Predicting her foe's evasion, Lancer had -[cleverly]- directed the projectile towards the shield, building up prana to focus her attention away from its positioning to her rear. Counting on its inability to directly harm her, based on its behavior heretofore, the knight had committed a costly lapse by not factoring in any another possible use it might've had. Peering over her back, Arturia saw the brass shield reshaping itself into a spinning sheave, clasping and redirecting the supple spear back at her from behind, while still in mid-dodge. Were it not for this early notice, and again her Luck, it's likely she would have been skewered through the head or the heart. An instant kill.

_***slash*** _

"GAH!" — as it was, she managed to twist herself that it lacerated her across the upper left arm instead, leaving a trickle of blood running down into her silvery gauntlet.

The wound was nothing serious, she assessed, though her swordsmanship would be somewhat impaired while it healed. Despite having failed to score any serious injury, Lancer appeared to be fully satisfied by the results of her -[grandiose]- attack, grabbing her weapon with -[incredible]- ease, its blinding velocity a non-issue. Stanger still, rather than taking advantage of her momentary injuries as expected, the other -[prettier]- Servant contented herself with gloating Arturia from afar, quite mirthful for some reason. Not dissuaded, the monarch carried on.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

"As I thought…" — she did not attempt to attack again.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

"No reaction…" — nor did she fall back on her shield.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

"None whatsoever." — simply using her -[superior]- agility to keep Arturia's frantic assault far at bay.

"What do you speak of? Stand and fight!" — she demanded of her -[wise]- opponent, her patient tested by the constant retreats.

"Have you not realized it yet? Think, irregular. _Think_! Is there nothing… off about what just transpired? Even the recesses of that tiny brain of yours must be nagging away at you." — she rhythmically poked her left temple with her -[gracile]- finger — "Who? ( _*tap*_ )Who? ( _*tap*_ ) Who? ( _*tap*_ )"

_Who?_

She had kindled her Noble Phantasm.

_Who?_

She had heard her weapon's name.

_Who?_

So how come then?

_Who?_

She thought of her as Lancer still?

_Who?_

Her true identity.

_Who?_

Why didn't she knew?

"Who…!?" — was it not a true Noble Phantasm she had used? Was it all another ruse? Was it an ability she wasn't aware of yet, impairing her perception, polluting her psyche?

"Ah! At long last! At long last she begins to fathom!" — detecting her utter bafflement, the antagonist -[whimsical]- Servant yelled out, clapping slowly — "How verily she does not belong!"

"What sort of trickery of yours is this!?" — her temper now truly imperilled, Lancer's -[intriguing]- quibbles began to feel increasingly like she was toying with her.

"Oh, I am flattered you think this is my doing. Alas, it is not. Whatever thoughts the Gods had to place us in this scenario, they elude me. Your presence above all else." — more frustrating drivel.

"Hard as it might be for waywards such as you… speak sense of it! Or speak none at all!" — the woman took a -[well-merited]- mocking enjoyment out of her irritation…

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

…further aggravated by the continual -[sound]- refusal to engage her in proper face-to-face combat — "Why do you persist with these shunning withdrawals!? Cease and come at me anew, you craven!"

"What motive do I have for doing so? I've already won, irregular. I'm but curious to see how my victory plays out, and to take my reward with me of course. Though, there yet remains a time that you can rob me of such, before you perish." — she opened her -[slender]- arms, an invitation —"Won't you show me what's hidden within that sheath of wind then? No other chance will be had, and I would very much like to see it still."

Much as it went against her intuition to play into another -[enthralling as she might be]- Servant's hand, Arturia felt she had no other choice but to resort her own Noble Phantasm. She was getting dangerously exhausted from the duel, to the point she wouldn't be capable of using it if it went on for much longer, and Lancer ( _who?_ ) refused to melee. Best she used her trump card now, the King rationalized, before she was too weak.

She began to dispel Invisible Air, bringing forth Excalibur's holy light and driving away the surrounding darkness, to an awaiting Lancer's absolute rapture. Despite the strain, she gathered the remainder of her inner reserves, holding her sword aloft and gripping its hilt with both hands.

Or she would have, hadn't someone grabbed her wrist first…

"Terribly sorry for this…" — Arturia only caught a gander of the man, another Servant…

_*thwack*_

…right as he drove his hammer down, completely severing her left arm just below the shoulder with a sickening crunch. While attempting to do otherwise, she could not conceal her blood curling distress, as the man tossed the disconnected limb away like discarded scrap with one hand…

_*clang*_

…while pounding the soil beneath them with the same bisecting motion of his weapon. The earth all around Lancer, who had -[astutely]- jumped into the air preemptively, erupted into a multitude of bladeheaded pillars, forcing the other female Servant back to the outer limits of the property.

"That eager to finish up our duel… or do you simply take enjoyment in interfering with my affairs?" — Lancer expressed with poorly conceived resentment — "Taking the boy's life is no longer in my interest, nor should he be your concern now that he became a Master. My regard lies solely on that fake Champion he called forth. That Saber of his."

"Can't let you do that either." — the -[bothersome]- man let her know.

"Why, may I ask!?" — she -[rationally]- enquired, incredulous by his -[puerile]- actions — "Protecting the boy, that I can understand. Some ill-advised sense of empathy on the behalf of that girl. But… _her_!? Even if she's an abnormality, I can scarcely believe your Master would've instructed you to defend another Champion."

"…"— his expression was that of a child caught red-handed, well aware that he was to be scolded by his elders.

"Eh… Eh… Eh… I see. You want her for yourself." — she concluded, her ire and doubts dissipated it seemed — "Not that I am one to censure another's taste, and she is a bit stuck up for her own good. Perchance a bit of companionship would do her good."

"My reasons are my own… Nymeria, Warrior-Queen of the Rhoynar." — he addressed Lancer by name, her real one judging by how fast the delectation on her face vanished.

"So you heard." — she lamented, heaving a sigh — "Appears I may have miscalculated and exposed my identity too heedlessly…" — the woman's turned to contemplate the distant horizon — "…and my Master now signals me back. The night grows too old it seems. Oh well… enjoy playing with the irregular in my stead. I believe she means to express her gratitude for your altruism."

_~schwing~_

Arturia did not.

_*clink*_

She knew not what reason he might've had to step in, the matter of fact remained that he was a Servant still, an enemy. The man was but another threat to her, to her Master and to her ultimate goal of achieving the Grail. Even if fighting him proved fruitless, her knightly honor would not let her go down gently. And, admittedly, she was a bit miffed about the missing arm, her rage turned into righteous fury.

"Awww… what a shame. Another time perhaps… Servant Archer. Have fun with her." — Lancer's -[gorgeous]- figure dissipated into the dark tides of the hour, leaving the Servant of the Sword and Bow to duke it out.

"I know I had."

/\

\/

_~schwing~_

Arturia pressed on with her attack, undeterred by the mutilation her body sustained. Now, more than ever, there was an urgency to her frantic charge as she needed to win before her opponent could capitalize on the dire damage she had suffered. The gaping flesh steamed, leaving a crimson trail on the brown soil, as she continued to swing her invisible blade, albeit much more clumsily with just one hand to hold it, fighting through the biting pain.

_*clink*_

The new arrival, however, was no more inclined to retaliate than Lancer had been after unleashing her Noble Phantasm. This despite being in a evidently more advantageous position then her, what with currently possessing an arm more than her. The Servant, Archer she had called him, seemed more interested in simply parrying her blows. If it was out of an inability to counter them or because he was just holding back, she could not tell.

"Gods, the fock is wrong with you, woman!?" — what was plain to ascertain was that he had quite the mouth...

~schwing~

_*clink*_

"Need I state the clearly obvious!? You've attacked me!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"I saved your damn witless life! And some thanks I get!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"By crippling me!? Am I to buy into such false-ridden folly!?"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"What else reason had I to meddle in if not!?"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"What would I know of the machinations of a dastard such as yourself!?"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"Oh, so I'm a dastard now!?"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"No more could you name one whose actions befit a lowly cur!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"Better a mongrel dog that than some clod of a blonde!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"Your tongue is telling of the rot festering inside! Strike at me with steel not words!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"You dense mule, I am trying NOT to fight you!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"That I can see! A foul recreant that cowers when his opponent stares him in the face!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"Gods!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"You!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"Are!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

"Daft!"

_~schwing~_

_*clink*_

_*clang*_

In an effort to create some physical space between them, Archer erected a wall of rock and dirt between them, running all the way the from one end of the residence's courtyard to the other…

"Did the your Master manage to botch the ritual even worse than mine-!?"

_~schwing~_

_*crash*_

…which she easily shattered with a single swipe of her sword.

"…or are you just THAT brain-dead to begin with!?" — peering through the gap left in the improvised barrier, she saw the other Servant rubbing his forehead in frustration — "If I wanted you dead, I would've let the Smith's finish your absentminded self! Again… why would I stop her!? What could I've possibly gained by doing this!?"

 _The Smith's? Who…?_ Arturia cut herself off. _No, I must not let him distract me just as Lancer did._ No more idle talk, no more heeding imbecility. As she went to execute yet another slash…

"Seven Andal Hells!" — the ground beneath her gave in midway and then sprouted out, clutching her legs and arm, impeding her progress — "Now… will you list-!?" — for less than a second, before she shattered her earthly chains by discharging a large Prana Burst.

_~schwing~_

She almost returned Archer's previous 'favor' by nearly decapitating him when he got to close, foolhardily thinking he had her at her mercy.

_*cli-cli-cli-cli-clink*_

Though he again blocked the attempt, through a mixture of her mastery with a sword and his shock at her abrupt escape, she successfully broke his already loose grip on the hammer, disarming him.

_~schwing~_

Following with a stylish pirouette to kick his weapon far from reach, she then slashed downwards to finish the not-so-quite unarmed Servant off, as he grabbed the invisible blade with both hands. Or, to put it more correctly, numerous small stony pillars shot upwards from the ground, blocking its descent path. It wasn't enough to stop it. Under the immense pressure they were put under, the terracotta fingers began to crack and cave in, then shattering into rubble altogether, forcing Archer to one knee.

"shiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshiteshite..." — he tried to contravene it by raising more and more in an, ultimately doomed, attempt to stop the sinking advance of her namesake instrument towards him.

But before she could put an end to their duel...

"…wait! S-Stop! Saber!" — her imprudent Master, despite his own weariness, trudged unto the middle of the battlefield from the relative safety of the shed she had left him.

"Yes! Stop, would you kindly!?" — with her blade but a few inches away from his face, Archer's panic-stricken howl only added to the absurdity of the request — "Preferably before I am without a head!"

"Master, remain where you are! I will deal with the enemy!" — ignoring both men's pleas, she kept driving her sword through his less than sturdy shell bit by bit.

"No! …d-d-don't harm him!" — disregarded, her Master insisted with dogged resolve — "He sa-saved my life!"

 _What!?_ Until his piercing declaration finally made her halt.

"See? Saved his life. Saved your life. I helped him, and now I've helped you." — Archer pointed out in his defense — "Is it too much to ask that you at the least be as grateful as the kid!? Take after your Master's example perhaps!?"

"Am I to be thankful you wounded me in such a manner?" — albeit restraining herself physically, she wasn't about to forgive him for his previous conduct, as her smeared red stump of an arm could vouch for.

"If you actually had any modicum of sense in that fair head of yours, you would've chopped it off yourself! Gods woman, are you deaf or a dullard merely!? She screamed the name of her Semblant Relic for the world to heed!" — a lasting memorial of their legend past, another label for Noble Phantasm— "And yet… you scantily reacted! Are you even aware who she is!?"

"I… She… She did…" — despite the rhetorical nature of his question…

 _Tanatha Rhoyne,_ _Chrohea Thaiye_ _._ The appellation of her legendary armament. _Which?_

 _Nymeria, Warrior-Queen of the Rhoynar._ Archer had rightly identified her as. _Who?_

 _Why don't I?_ Yet, nothing. _How come…?_

…the truth was that she remained as ignorant to all of it as she was back then.

"Umm…" — her expression stamped with apprehensive disquiet, Archer's mien turned more amiable — "So that what she meant by 'irregular'. You are from around these here parts, aren't you?"

" _You_ _ **are**_ _of this world!"_ — Lancer had noticed the same, whatever it was suppose to convey.

At a loss and unsure what to do, Arturia stood there. An one-armed statue in the heart of an ample garden scarred by combat, locked eye-to-eye with another Servant, as if a vassal bending the knee to his liege (or perhaps asking her hand in marriage), patently hankering for the moment she would move her blade away from him. To say nothing of the redheaded teenager still quite not sure of what the hell was going on. A bizarre sight should one witness it from another perspective and with no context.

"Archer! What…!? Are…? you…?" — exactly what a young woman, Archer's Master no doubt, came face-to-face with when she barged in from the hallway of the main house.

"T-Tohsaka!?" — her Master called out, the name of one of the three founding families that established the Holy Grail War.

Making the most of the distraction provided by Tohsaka's entrance…

_*smack*_

…Archer, not needing his hammer to perform his combat _Transmutation_ she was now reminded, slammed his fist down on the hard clay. The ensuing sound of a faint crackle and sibilating air made the other Servant turn around, in time to see an object being flung in her Master's direction who, still fixed on the newcomer, was completely oblivious to the peril. If the bowman's goal was to force her to disengage from him, by posing a threat to her anchor to the worldly plane, it worked. Responding swiftly, she placed herself in front of its trajectory…

_*clink*_

…and swatted it aside with ease. She immediately picked up by the metallic ring that, of all things, he had elected to throw her missing gauntlet, whose grim contents a landed a short distance away in full view of everyone.

"What is that!?" — both Masters and the single-armed Servant exclaimed in unison, as the latter's severed limb fell off from the armored glove.

Beneath the torn blue fabric, the arm had lost all color, becoming gravel grey, and the skin was full of shallow crevices similar to soil after a long drought. The blood pouring out of both wounds had, at a glance, the consistency of gelatin. All of a sudden, Arturia was much more inclined to believe Archer had actually come to her rescue, like he vowed.

"Tanatha Rhoyne, Mother Rhoyne's dying curse. Or, as is it most known as, Greyscale." — a most fitting moniker given its external effects — "If I hadn't hacked the arm off, most of your body would be like that by now. Especially, if you had spent more of your prana with that Semblant Relic you were about to let loose. You're welcome, by the way."

"I…" — if what he said was true, then the Servant of the Sword felt she ought to be, even if she was too aghast for words. Although, that still left the question as to…

"Why did you jump in like that!?" — with a reprimanding shout, Tohsaka let out what was going through her mind as well — "I expressly told you not to interfere, Archer!"

"Sorry about that, Master. Turns out she's just ignorant, not the simpleton I assumed at first. Felt bad leaving her to die in such a grisly manner either way." — he offered as his pretext.

"You 'felt bad'!? What sort of feeble justification is that!?" — she couldn't help but to agree with his Master. Sentimentalities should have no stake in a battle royale like the one they were involved in.

"Well, you did say you wanted me to protect the kid. To 'stop her before she-', if my memory serves me right." — she was just as guilty as her Servant, it appeared — "If she had killed the irregular here, the Smi… Lancer would've taken him away. Gods know to do _what_."

"That was before he became another participant in the Holy Grail War. He's a Master now, so we've no obligation to help him, no other concern other than making sure he doesn't win. He's just our enemy as well." — a pragmatic disposition, typical of those who sought the hallowed artifact for themselves.

"…why?" — a mold her own Master did not fit — "Why are you saying that? Why am I your enemy, Tohsaka? Why are you talking like he have to fight? I don't understand… I don't understand any of this."

"…" — clicking her tongue, she averted his pleading gaze.

"Saber, Archer, Lancer, Masters, Servants, Champions, Holy Trial of Seven, Holy Grail War… none of it makes any sense! What does it all mean, goddamnit!? What are they even!?" — he pointed at the two Servants, denouncing their existence — "Why are they trying to kill each other!? What the hell are you… you 'Masters' warring for that you would be willing to kill bystanders for the sake of its secrecy!?"

"If you do not know the answer to any of those questions already, then you have no business with it at all, nor do I owe you any explanation." — like most Magi, Tohsaka was not one justify her actions to another — "To someone who's barely a magus like you no less, Emiya."

Arturia had to do her utmost to mask the shock she received at that moment. Her new Master apparently belonged to Kiritsugu's family, the man that denied her of the Grail in the previous War. Her hopes that being summoned in the same place that had been their temporary headquarters was purely coincidental were instantly dashed, a given in hindsight. Just the very idea she would have to confront the Magus Killer after the anguish he made her experience…

"To think the Grail would grant a Servant to someone like you, of all people. It must've a wicked sense of humor. But do not mistake me, what happened here was an error, a blunder of the highest order. One that pretend to mend this instant. Simply renounce to your status as a Master, hand her over to me and you won't have to hear from any of us ever again." — the magus not-so much suggested as she demanded it from him, not bothering with Arturia's possible opinion (again, typical) — "If you further fear for your life, you can seek shelter at the church atop the hill. I am sure you and that fake priest Kirei will get along just fine while I busy myself with beating the rest."

"Not until you tell me what's going on!" — argument or threat, she was puffing against an adamant brick wall.

"Ah! And why should I!? You don't seem to realize the position you are in." — Tohsaka derided his naivety. Indeed, her courtesy might evanesce at any moment, left to take what she desire by force. The prospects of them fending off an expert magus and her unharmed Servant weren't auspicious — "I'm allowing you a chance to continue that little live of yours in blissful nescience. A kindness really. The world magi is a cruel one, not one bit suited for the wide-eyed idealist types such as yourself. Accept my offer. Forget any of this."

"No, I cannot!" — notwithstanding, he would not let her withhold him.

"You stubborn fool! I'm trying to help you!" — her leniency was running thin — "I am giving you a chance to carry on with your boring existence at peace! Away from a cruel world that utterly devours those such as you! Will you let me already!?"

"Not while you'll be putting yourself in danger. I refuse."

"Y-Y-You…"

A long, long uncomfortable pause followed, as his words took time to sink in… (Arturia could've swore she heard crickets chirping, impossible in the cold winter) …broken first by Archer's hysterical chortle, next by Tohsaka herself, noticeably redder by the second.

"You're worried about _me_? You…" — then came the fulmination, a veritable explosion of prana…

" **I-D-I-O-T-!-!-!"**

… and just like that, all decorum was obliterated in the fires of her incarnate wrath.

"You dare speak of being preoccupied with my safety! Who are you to fret, to judge my ability to take care of myself, you lowly boor of a magus!? Do you think of me as some shy damsel in need of aid!? A distressed princess for you to fulfill an infantile savior's fantasy!? You honestly believe that I require the help of some delusional illiterate!? I can destroy my foes with Fire, Earth, Water, Wind or Aether! All five of the basest Elements at my beck and call! I need but to lift finger to make Swiss cheese out of someone the likes of you! With my jewels, I can match the sorcerers of old and their forgotten arts! And I also happen to be quite good at Chinese martial arts, so I don't even need magic to wholly to obliterate a plain human being into fine red powder. I could break you in half, with bare hands, arms, legs and feet. Do you want me to spell it out some more!? You are talking with the heir to a two century old house of magi! The successor to a lineage containing some of the greatest minds ever dedicated to Thaumaturgy! The scion to a family that formulated the Heaven's Feel ceremony! The very means to obtain the Holy Grail, the cup of Jesus Christ himself, the Lamb of God! _GOD_! I'm to reach what you, in your infinitesimal intellect, think of as the almighty above! Do you understand!? You're the one who should be trembling! You're the one who got himself nearly killed tonight! You're the inept practitioner of magecraft who stumbled into the War and then, by some divine providence, not only survived but got yourself bestowed upon with a Servant! A chance that comes by once in a lifetime, something many magi labor to achieve for years on end, with little to no success to show for it! And you have the gall to think… THE GALL… to be afraid that I am the one putting myself in danger!? I am the danger, you fool! _The_ Master every other dreads will coming knocking at their doorstep! Of the two, I am the one who actually knows what she's doing… and Archer, if you treasure what's between your legs, you'll stop cackling like some demented hyena this instant! My warning from earlier still stands, you hear!?"

Her perceptibly feverish Servant struggled to muffle the background noise he had been providing for the entirety of her Master's winded diatribe, placing his hand in front of his mouth to contain himself, with little success. To be frank, Arturia could not hold him guilty for failing to keep his composure. Being connected to such a hot-blooded individual would be enough to drive those not strong of mind past mad, she imagined.

"Are you okay, Tohsaka?"— it spoke highly of his valor then, that her Master managed to stay serene and cordial towards her, even after enduring such verbal abuse.

"And… he… keeps…" — Arturia eyes did not deceive her. Those were billows of smoke coming out her mouth, nose and ears.

"Perhaps you should just explain everything to the kid, Master. The fundamental of it." — her Servant suggested — "Aside from doing a fairness to him, maybe he'll relinquish control like you want once he has a better understanding of the situation he fell into. Besides, it's in our interest to determine what went on here precisely."

"Why is that?" — crossing her arms, she raised an eyebrow.

"Same reason Lancer was so engrossed with him. Don't you remember? That Septon we saw today said that I was the last of the seven to be accounted for, yet…" — hit by an epiphany, Tohsaka glared the other Heroic Spirit present — "…there she stands. An eight in a trial of seven, under the banner of no God."

 _All the Servants had already been summon!?_ Who herself was just as astounded by the news.

"… _it means you are nothing_ like _the rest of us."_

" _Irregular."_

" _Have you not realized it yet?"_

" _Irregular."_

" _How verily she does not belong!"_

" _Irregular."_

Lancer's words at last fell into place, under the light of that revelation. It, perhaps, could be where her lack of acquaintance with both her Noble Phantasm and true name stemmed from.

"And, unlike me and that woman, that one over there is familiar with the conventions of this world. She styles herself by your appellatives and I would stake that she knows where we are." — Archer turned to her, wanting for an answer — "Don't you?"

"The city of Fuyuki, in the nation of Japan. The holy ground upon which the Servants of the Holy Grail War must do battle." — she recited, though not as surely as she would have done in the past.

"See?" — his Master silently pondered on a course of action for a while, before coming to a decision.

"Fine! I'll consider a succinct explanation." — she grumbled — "I guess you do deserve as much after what you've been through tonight. You became embroiled with this War whether we both like it or not. Best be me to guide you out of it in one piece. Invite us inside, would you? It's freezing out here."

"Sure… come inside." — he granted them permission, never minding they had already barged into his house uninvited anyhow.

"Master, I must protest this decision!" — his Servant, however, was not that remotely trusting — "She declared you to be her enemy nay a while ago. Her offer of assistance could be nothing but a vile guise. I cannot abide by while you permit them entry into the residence based on her word alone."

"Do you take us for bloody Freys!? We're not going to jump him if he invite us into his home! I take it the concept of Guest Right is not foreign to this land!?" — Archer took a startling deal of offense at the allegation, surprising those present, Tohsaka most of all.

"It's okay, Saber. Tohsaka's not the type of person to commit such a despicable action. I've total confidence in her." — her Master reassured.

"Thanks…" — the subject in question appeared quite flustered by the reckless amount of faith he had in her — "Let's hurry up indoors. It's cold and we have much to discuss. (God, it's been a long day.)"

"Half of which spent sleeping in the bath."

"Wha-?" — _Uh?_

"You be quiet!"

/\

\/

" _I can fix it."_

Archer kept repeating these four words nonstop, calling Arturia aside as their Masters confer with each other in the residence's sitting room. 'It', she figured, referred to her missing arm, which she in turn made clear wasn't an issue at all pertinent to him. His obduracy and her likewise inexorable rebuffs, however, escalated to a point where it got them kicked out into the adjacent hallway by Tohsaka, aggravated by the brewing murmur, with her main audience's taciturn approval. With no choice left but to wait until the two magi finished up their negotiations, and with neither Servant willing to move too far away from their Masters, the King of Knights resigned herself to harken his imperious call. But, regardless…

"A bit on the excessive, wouldn't you say?" — she wasn't about to take any risks while alone with him — "Do you really have to keep your blade poised at my throat?"

"My Master may have some misguided conviction in yours, but I will not allow myself to be mislead with such ease. He's too naïve, too inexperienced, unaccustomed to the ways of the magi, that's patent for anyone to see. They are of treacherous character, making prey of those that foolhardily put their hopes on them." — a miscalculation she could not afford to repeat twofold.

"Speaking from experience I take it?" — Archer caught on — "Or are you just naturally suspicious of every helping hand that comes your way?"

"What one hand gives, the other takes away." — another hard learned lesson.

"Well… I quite literally took one hand away from you, so its stands to reason then that I try to give you one back in return. It works the other way around to, doesn't it?" — Arturia did not share that rose-colored outlook — "If you just let me help you then…"

"My wound will heal on its own. Your aid is not necessary, I told you so already." — she again insisted.

"Gods… where to begin? If you haven't noticed yet, the kid is barely a sorcerer. I don't imagine he's providing you with a sufficient quantity prana to sustain yourself suitably, much less the additional amount required to recover from an injury that grievous." — more than anyone else, she was painfully conscious of such fact. Her Master was not a magus in the traditional sense, lacking any sort of formal training nor possessing the Magic Circuits that would distinguish him from an average human. A considerable handicap for her — "And even in the event that it grew back… I did mention Mother Rhoyne's dying curse. _Curse_. Those tend to linger around for a while. Your arm would come back with the Greyscale still festering it, is what I'm saying… and then all my trouble would've been for not."

"Is there a way to break this curse?" — a twisted humor of the fates that a Servant of the Lance would again impair her with one of those.

"Not unless you are a child, which I assume you are not despite the small stature. And neither by killing Nymeria or breaking her Semblant Relic, if that's your next question. This is divine-grade magic, the final malediction of a God. It would take a proportional amount of power to dispel it. So unless you happen to know another deity or two that may lend you a hand… an arm in this case…?" — he awaited for the satisfaction of her negative answer.

"No."

"Then I guess you're stuck with me, Lannie." — Archer declared with smug aplenty — "Luckily for you, I am a generous God."

"What can you possibly gain by doing this?" — a matter he himself had thrown in the air earlier — "Why do you wish to assist me with such fervor? What motivation do you bear?"

"What part of 'ge-ne-rous' had you trouble understanding exactly? I'm a man assuming responsibility for my actions, a trait many a woman are fond of as a rule. Besides, you and I will likely be allies in the coming future, Lannie. The welfare of my prospective partner is somewhat relevant to me." — Tohsaka was resolute in getting her Master to cede control over to her, so his presumption had a basis. Still, Archer came off as awfully optimistic, hoping even, for that outcome.

"Should I acquiesce your succor, what would you do precisely?" — Arturia enquired next.

"Simple, Lannie. Could you open that glass frame over there?" — wary of his intentions, she did as he asked still.

_*smack*_

And as soon as she slide it open, he slammed his foot to the wooden floor. She swiftly repositioned the tip of her invisible sword on the notch of his neck, him simply raising his arms up in surrender. Shortly after, a silver object came flying in through the window straight into his right hand.

"You can lower that now, I just needed this." — he wiggled the armored glove around — "Quite the exquisite piece of metalwork, I got to say."

"My gauntlet? What for…?" — Transmutation and Reinforcement, his profession by election. The tools of an artisan — "You plan to reshape the metal and make it into a replacement."

"Indeed. I figured I could use this here piece since you wouldn't be needing it." — he took notice of her skepticism — "You seem to be expecting something else."

"I made the mistake of assuming you had knowledge that could neutralize Lancer's curse and allow me to make use of my arm again." — Arturia guaranteed that her repentant tone made it through to him — "I see now that's not the case. This is was an imbecilic proposition."

"A smith works with what he's given." — Archer presented as an excuse — "Moreover, an artificial limb has certain benefits that new flesh and bone would not have. It'll do you better in the long run than anything what you originally had, trust me."

"Trust you? To let a Servant graft one of its creations, some construct he forged, to my body with no review, you ask of me. You, that will invariably become my enemy in the coming future." — she stated what should be sorely evident even to him, how illogical his proposal sounded to her — "Do not presume me for my Master, nor assume me of feeble mind. What possible guarantee can you give me that this isn't a dishonest offer, but a trap designed to further maim or slay me at your signal?"

"I can only give my word, I'm afraid. I doubt it will be sufficient for you, despite all the assistance I provided so far." — he was correct — "If don't wish to make use of it, or simply relish the thought of fighting for rest of the Trial with one arm, then don't. I'm not imposing anything upon you. I will say though, that it's best to have the option on the table than to have none at all. Wouldn't you agree?" — also correct. Alternatives beyond his suggestion were nonexistent — "Our masters will be negotiating for while still, so we might get it over with now than later. At least let me built it. Otherwise, we will have to look at each other awkwardly until they are done. Not that I would mind the latter."

He sat down on the floor, not bothered about the concealed tip of her blade, awaiting for Arturia to do the same. A moment of deliberation after, she drew back her weapon and did the same. The knight would let the artificer perform his self-appointed duty at least, reserving the right of further judgment until he was done with his work.

"I'm going to need your good arm… bare." — he added with some hesitation, much like the female Servant herself when she took off her other metallic glove and gave him her hand as he wished.

He pulled back the sleeve of her dress until it exposed more or less the same portion of flesh he had to rend on the left side, griping the uppermost section between his index and thumb and gently running down its length from there. As he did, the alloy of her armor piece, held afloat by his other hand shifted and warped itself at the beck of his briskly typing fingers, assuming more and more the shape of a lean appendage the further he progressed. Faint traces of Archer's magical energy coursed through her arm, scanning its inner structure which was then replicated in detail on the altering metal.

His touch was icy, much like the sensation left by the winter night air going in and out one's throat. A perfect match to his countenance and, most arresting of all, the blank stare of his eyes. Yet, none of it matched the outgoing and (tentatively) humorous mannerisms he displayed on the surface. A warm disposition out of a frozen shell. He did his best to mask this marked discrepancy, plastic smiles and beaming eyes just as false, but upon closer scrutiny the façade cracked to unveil the erroneousness of it all. In spite of this, no enmity could be felt by her. His affability towards her, and by extent her Master, was professedly authentic, not a veneer serving as a decoy. More of a coat for a deep-rooted melancholy, it imparted.

"This might take a while… so if you have any questions to put forward, there's no better time to make them." — he propounded, nonchalant — "If you are so convinced we'll come to blows down the road, perhaps you'll find it useful to gather all the information I can share while you still can. Since we're allies for now, I feel obliged to answer."

"Whether truthfully or not…" — she wondered out loud.

"…depends on what goes on that villainous brain of his. That 'foul recreant', right?" — Archer spat back, dejected by her steadfast prudence — "Ask away anyhow, to keep me busy. Take it as lies, and make out the truth for yourself then. (It's not like I've done nothing else but to help you.)"

"Why though?" — _Why is he going_ _out of his way to aid me?_ Arturia mulled over — "Is it the same as Lancer? Out of some yearning to satisfy your curiosity? Both you and her refer to me as an irregular. 'Under the banner of no God', you yourself said."

"What does it mean, you are certainly tired of wondering on about?" — he accurately deduced — "It means, Lannie, that you weren't sent by none of the Seven."

"Seven?" — a number that kept coming up a lot lately.

"Aye, the Seven above. Father, Mother, Warrior, Maiden, Smith, Crone and Stranger. Seven aspects, seven faces, seven personalities, seven sets of virtues (and vices many forget), and so on. They're the seven hypostasis of the grander godly being they make up between themselves." — he sensed some confusion — "Think of it like this…"

He tapped the nearby glass with his pinky. Ripples appeared in its clear surface, taking on discernible shapes…

:

 **n**  
**ns**  
**ens**  
**vense**  
**ven** * **sev**  
**eve** ** **sev**  
**eve** *** **eve**  
**sev** **** **ven**  
**nse** ***** **ven**  
**nse** ****** **ens**  
**even** ******************************* **ens** ******* **ens** ****************************** **nseve**  
**enseven** ************************** **ens** ******** **nse** ************************* **nsevense**  
**nsevensevens** ******************* **ven** ********* **sev** ******************** **nsevenseven**  
**even** **** **sevens** ************** **eve** ********** **sev** *************** **nseven** **** **sev**  
**ens** ********* **sevens** ********* **eve** *********** **eve** ********* **nseven** ******** **ense**  
**sev** ************ **sevens** **** **sev** ************ **eve** *** **enseve** ************ **even**  
**ven** *************** **sevensev** * **nsevenseven** * **venseve** **************** **sev**  
**ense** *************** **enseven** ******** **nsevens** **************** **ens**  
**seve** ************ **even** ****************** **nsev** ************ **eve**  
**ven** ******** **nse** *********************** **ven** ******** **nsev**  
**nse** **** **ven** ************************** **nse** ***** **vens**  
**eve** ** **eve** **************************** **sev** **** **eve**  
**vensev** ****************************** **evensev**  
**nsevensev** ******************************* **vensevens**  
**nseven** ***** **sev** ******************************* **ven** ****** **seven**  
**seven** ********* **sev** ******************************* **ven** ******** **nseven**  
**sevens** ************* **sev** ****************************** **eve** ************* **nseven**  
**sevens** ****************** **eve** **************************** **eve** ****************** **enseve**  
**evens** ************************ **ven** ************************* **nsev** *********************** **enseve**  
**ensevensevenseven** ***************** **ense** ********************** **ense** ***************** **nsevensevensevens**  
**nsevensevensevensevensevenseve** ********************* **vensevensevensevensevensevense**  
**ve** **** **enseve** ********** **evens** **** **sev**  
**eve** ******** **ensevensevense** ******** **ev**  
**ev** ************** **ense** ************* **eve**  
**sev** ************ **evenseve** *********** **eve**  
**sev** *********** **nse** ***** **ens** ********** **ven**  
**nse** ********** **ens** ******** **nse** ********* **ven**  
**nse** ********* **sev** *********** **eve** ******** **ens**  
**ens** ******** **ens** ************** **ens** ******* **ens**  
**ens** ****** **eve** ****************** **sev** ****** **nse**  
**ven** **** **nse** *********************** **ven** **** **nse**  
**ven** ** **vens** ************************** **nse** *** **sev**  
**eve** * **seve** ****************************** **eve** * **sev**  
**evense** ********************************** **enseve**  
**seven** ************************************* **nseve**  
**sev** ****************************************** **ven**  
**ns** ********************************************* **ns**

**:**

"Each ray represents one of the Seven. Arranged in ring-like fashion, you can see that they form a single circumference. A single God. They are a outward projection of the same being, an amalgamate construct. The Septiune Godhead." — from where she sat, the moon fit fully inside the drawn roundel center, and the seven spikes that surrounded it were its nightly crown — "Neither is individually a god, notwithstanding many calling them so, but together, as a group, they rank amongst the divine. This is their emblem, its form upon manifesting unto the material realm, the rainbow throne upon which they sit. The Holy Seven-Pointed Star."

"I am not familiarized with this deity, though the Seven appear analogous in concept to that of the Holy Trinity in Christian doctrine." — perhaps it was but an obscure, ancient interpretation of the canon, lost to the annals of History, Arturia theorized — "How does it relate to the Holy Grail War?"

"Seven are the Champions, and seven are their Masters, beckon forth by the coming Trial, in the death throes of a passing era. One is the Holy Star, which seven pairs seek, for which seven pairs fight… so one may reign, and peace in the Heavens be maintained." — he recited — "Ring any bells? It is the basic premise of the Holy Trial of Seven."

"It is similar to that of the Holy Grail War as well. Another, earlier version of the ritual maybe?" — Heaven's Feel was not the first attempt the magi had conducted to reach the sacred artifact. Even during her lifetime, many were those that sought the relic, her knights most eminent of all — "But that last line: 'so one may reign, and peace in the Heavens be maintained'. Is it not the goal of this… Trial to acquire the Grail, as so it may bestow a miracle upon the victors?"

"That is the prize we fight for, yes. But that's merely our incentive to go along with the ceremony, not its true purpose." — he informed her — "In its truest sense, the Trial is but a competition enacted by the Seven themselves, to decide which one of them will hold sovereignty for the coming age. Thus… 'so one may reign'."

"This Trial was established not by human magi!?" — Arturia exclaimed, astounded at the disclosure — "But by these Seven, this Septiune Godhead you mention, instead!?"

"Aye. First and foremost, the Trial serves as a mechanism that keeps the Seven from warring amongst themselves directly, and, by association, the Septiune Godhead from tearing itself apart from the inside out. It's a system that resolves their power struggle through a battle of proxies." — an identical method to that employed by pantheons of old, to keep the internal strife between quarreling deities in check — "The Seven appoint a human Master each, customarily among the ranking orders of the Faith, to act as their representative in the impending contest. The elect are conferred a Heroic Spirit, a Champion plucked straight from the individual Heavens, to serve by their side for the remainder of the contest. Master and Champion fight and, above all, strive to eliminate the six other surrogate duos on their patron's behalf." — brought back to be nothing but pawns in an everlasting contention between higher beings. The essence of it alone caused her no small degree of revolt — "Ultimately, their goal is to bring about the Holy Star itself, the corporeal embodiment of the Septiune Godhead, much like the Andal diviners strived to achieve while their people roamed the Hills of Andalos in Essos. At the end, the surviving pair are granted its blessing, a miracle as you speak of, and their benefactor is bequeath with rule over it, until the next iteration of the rite."

"'and peace in the Heavens be maintained'." — he hummed at her affirmation — "So that of the Seven whose chosen wins is awarded with dominion over the beaten six."

"Dominion over all of creation." — Archer emended — "The Holy Seven-Pointed Star, the seat of the Seven, is a direct gateway to the Core of All Things, so its influence transcends that of a 'typical' divine spirit. Who holds sway over the Star, who is prime among peers, holds the key to the Core."

"A trial by combat to settle on who possesses the rights to what entails is the power of God itself." — she summed up, astonished by how the stakes transcended that of a traditional Grail War.

"Gods knows those seven idiots cannot reach a peaceful compromise between them, preferring to force a bunch of temporal humans and Heroic Spirits like you and me duel one another to the death. Lazy, good-for-nothing sods." — the Servant derided what, according to him, included the one responsible by his presence there. Not that she didn't agree with him — "It was so much better when mankind worshiped simple things like rivers, mountains, forests, the sea and whatnot."

"You allude to this Holy Star, but what of the Grail then? Are both the same artifact, different in name only? Or…?" — _Did… did I destroy it? When Kiritsugu commanded me to…?_

The moment of his betrayal was still a vivid memory to Arturia.

The absolute horror as her body moved without consent, as she cried out against the Command Spells compelling it forward, as she swung down Excalibur's to destroy the device which could save Britain from the mistake that was her tenure. Could that have been the reason, she brooded on. The Seven, the Septiune Godhead, the Holy Star, the concepts and mechanics Archer spoke of, the unknown Servants themselves, her own abnormal summoning, the skewed timeframe. Was it all but a design of providence as a countervail for the crime she had been forced to commit?

_What I've I done…_

"In relates to that particular mystery, I'm just in the dark as you are. If I'm here that's the Septiune's doing I'm certain. The Maiden picked my Master, and thus I am that of the Maiden, innocent and pure… the Maiden, not me (and certainly not my Master)." — he pointlessly felt the need to clarify — "I don't know about you or this chalice my Master also keeps blabbering on about… and that's precisely it. None of the Seven caught on that the Masters they've sponsored aren't even from the same world as they are… or simply didn't care, in their lust for victory. And now a kid, a sorcerer only just, summons an eight, against all their laws, outside their domain. Are you beginning to realize how deep mine and Nymeria's fascination with you and your Master runs, Lannie?"

She did see it. How was she summoned? Why had it occurred? What would happen if she won? If that was indeed the Trial of Seven, and not the Grail War, those questions gained substantial significance, in particular to those were aware of its mechanics.

" _Sent by none of the Seven above, to fight for none. You are_ _ **not**_ _one of the Champions, that much is now obvious to me."_ — Arturia once more was reminded of that devilish-[ly gorgeous]- woman's words _… gorgeous?_

Lancer's -[flattering]- fixation with her and her Master proved out taking into account such particularities. All those alluded instances to her displacement, her unawareness, yet she failed to recognize the legitimacy behind them, so caught up in her own hunger to engage her -[seductive]- opponent.

_Flattering? Seductive? Why am I…?_

Pensive about that -[handsome]- jezebel like that, she knew not.

_What is this?_

Perhaps the incessantly intruding lexicon was the result of a hex -[brought on about by Cupid's arrow]-.

… _no. God in Heaven, no!_

That darn -[fine]- hive of concentrated -[womanhood, that made her feel like]- filth -[by comparison]- was messing with her consciousness -[the same way she wished to make a mess out of the Servant in the nearest available bedroom]-.

_No!No!No!No!No!No!No!_

"Is everything alright? You're making weird faces…" — an inquisitive Archer adverted — "…and your cheeks are red all over."

"NO!" — she blared with an impetuous screech, startling him — "Yes! Yes, I'm… I'm… Are you certain Lancer's curse has been removed thoroughly?"

"I wouldn't be touching you if it wasn't." — he told her, disoriented by her reaction — "Why?"

"It's strange… during the battle I did not pay much mind to it." — in a calmer situation, however, it was a whole different story. She could not overlook it — "Words are being added to my mind, alien, not by my volition. It's as if something was cramming them in there. Another of Lancer's anathemas you're aware of?"

"Mmm…" — he mused over Arturia's concern for a short while — "By chance, Lannie, do you happen to be known as a King in your legend?"

"Why would it be relevant?" — _How did he…?_

"I'll take that as a yes." — he rightly inferred — "In regards to your question, let me demonstrate. Describe Nymeria to me out-loud. Her physical traits, her personality, her fighting style, whatever you wish, as long as it pertains to her. Pour your heart out."

The King of Knights was about to ask what purpose would it serve, but complied to his odd request without more objection.

"Well… if we were to base it on her weapon, she would be the Servant Knight of the Lance, although of 'knight' she has very little. Patronizing and arrogant, -[rightfully]- cocksure of her -[greater]- abilities, willing to resort to detestable tactics -[that obtain results]-, and with a -[fetching]- penchant to season her speech with debauch -[and witty]- phrasing. Wholly unbecoming of such title, from what I -[, the sore loser,]- could gather from our -[far too]- brief interaction."

"Sums about up the pleasant experience I too had…"

"Aside from that, she's… tall and with a well-built -[lissome]- anatomy, I can say. Dark -[polished]- skin befitting an inhabitant from the Holy Land and its surroundings. Black -[velvet]- hair, same as her -[fabulous]- irises. Revealing-[ly distracting]- attire, adorned with a plethora of bronze ornaments -[that accentuate the sleekness of her limbs]- but little else in terms of actual armor -[my feasting gaze is happy to report]-."

"Likewise…"

"To be expected given her approach to a direct confrontation. Emphasizing speed over raw strength, exhibiting a remarkable pliancy of both her -[toned]- body and the lance, approximately two meters long, she -[proficiently]- brandishes. Or, to be more precise, she doesn't wield it as much as it freely streams akin a serpent, all over her -[lechery]- frame…"

"…her robust legs…"

"…-[firm]- hips…"

"…waistline like a timeglass…"

"…hands -[I would like to be caressed by]-…"

"…strong cuddling arms…"

"…-[soul stealing]- eyes…"

"…lips so ravenous…"

"…-neck -[equally as luscious]-…"

"…paling to a bosom you would like to dip your head upon..."

"…-[that fills me with envy]-…" — crawling from the sinking abyss of wretchedness back to reality once more, she felt the urgent need to wash her tongue — "What is happening!? What vile sorcery has befallen me!?"

"Kingtamer."

"King… tamer?"

"Kingtamer. It's who she is, an appellative." — Archer explained, not one bit ashamed of himself — "The Warrior-Queen made quite the reputation for herself by subduing the various minor kingdoms of Dorne after she and her people washed ashore. 'Six to the North, three to her bed, the others she fought, at her feet dead', so the saying goes. And, as when it comes to these sort of things, it became part of her legend that she could bend any and all _King_ to her will, making those that bear it as their title utterly captivated by her. Filled with sinful desire…" — he added in jest, though Arturia did not find it as nearly as comical as he did.

"An ability to influence one's mentality with such ease, impervious even to my Magical Resistance. It's appalling…" — and utterly embarrassing, the damnable -[enchanting]- woman — "Is there a way one can withstand this disgraceful manipulation?"

"Easy, Lannie. Don't think about her." — he suggested, seriously.

"The more you actively strive to disregard something, the more it will wind up in your thoughts, the more lasting it becomes." — not to mention what would happen should they cross blades again, where it could lead to a fatal moment of hesitation. Like when her Instinct began to lag because of her entrancement.

"If that's the case, we best change topics. That wonderful woman played with both our heads aplenty for one night." — _B_ _oth our heads…?_

"Are you a King also?" — woe were his people if treated to the same antics he'd been pestering her with.

"Umm… yes?" — he had apparently been left with the impression that she was aware of it already — "Did you not notice me under that accursed ability's effects just now?"

"Give the nature of those remarks, one could attribute it to simple immoral perversion on your behalf." — he scoffed at her supposition.

"Oh, like _you_ are above it… flatboard." — she got caught up in the momentum, that was it, -[she kept lying to herself]- — "How did a woman became known as a King in her legend anyway?"

"It was a necessity." — one of many she had to endure for the greater interests of her subjects — "I shall say no more."

"Nymeria was right. You're too awfully restraint for your own good, Lannie." — Archer predictably made little of her reservations.

"That's another point of matter I wish to discuss. Why do you insist on addressing me as such? La-nnie." — it just rubbed her the wrong way — "I resent to be addressed by such an immature nickname."

"What else I'm suppose to call you… Lannie?" — he sounded like an infant purposefully looking to irritate his parent out of teasing misbehavior…

"I am the Servant Saber, you can acknowledge me as such." — and accomplishing it with flying colors, she didn't want to admit — "If you are so inclined to be courteous towards me, I believe I'm not asking for anything particularly exerting on your part."

"If one is to be precise, that assertion of yours is incorrect. I'm presuming Saber is what they call those of the Father. The knightly kind, always doing what's good and noble, casting down evildoers with their shiny swords and resplendent armor… sacrificing sound judgment and wits for their inestimable sense of integrity. The oh so honorably stupid…" — her scowl was meet by his smirk, proof of his postulation he took it — "Thing is, the Father has already picked his representative and sent his Champion before you were came along. Whoever he or she may be, this Heroic Spirit is the Saber of this Trial, this not-quite Grail War, not you, Lannie."

"You… you are correct, I must concur." — as must as it upset her to do so. She was an irregular this time around, as Lancer reminded her incessantly. Arturia pondered if her own misidentification derived from the last war, where she was its Saber — "My status notwithstanding, I still take objection with that other byname you've picked. What does it even connote at?"

"It's short for Lannister. Abbreviations seem to be popular around these parts. So…" — _…when in Rome?_ Archer would've said if he knew the expression, or even what Rome was.

"Lannister? Is that a name of any kind?"

"Aye, big family down in the Westerlands. You have the classic visage. The blonde hair, the emerald eyes, quite gorgeous I can aver (though a bit shorter than the norm), and that unmistakable innate gilded aura of pure radiant preeminence oozing out of you, that makes us the measly bow down to your superior will." — her Charisma was rank B, though his adulation was not meant as a compliment — "The disposition is present too. The one that comes with having a golden rod crammed straight up your bloody arse."

"Must you employ such repulsive commentary!?" — her indignation just gratified him more.

"Oh, and the tendency to make yourself be heard. How could I forget? Hear me roar! You sniveling shites!" — he howled look like a raving madman — "I'm even willing to bet you're fond of lions."

"Why do you construe it as a fault of character? They are noble creatures and, I dare say, I am indeed fond of them. As far as the realm of beasts goes, theirs is closest to a proper kingdom as it gets. Laudable in itself, given how most human monarchs do not even come close to achieve a similar harmony in their respective domains. There's also a certain visual appeal to their figure, the cubs in particular are so adora…" — Arturia interrupted her gushing speech as she noticed Archer's smile coming perilously close to burst by its seams.

"Wow. Wow." — she had carelessly let her affection for the great felines get the better of her, indulging him even further — "You ARE a Lannister through and through, aren't ya? Just missing the copious amounts of red and gold around your image. Maybe you can sing the Rains of Castamere while you are at it, Lannie."

"Will you cease calling me by that name at once?" — her patience was substantial, but limited nonetheless. _Perhaps, if I point my sword at his neck again…_

"I will, I will… provided you tell me your actual name. I won't have to call anything else then." — the nerve he had to make such demand.

"I'm not revealing my true identity!" — she was outright indignant he went as far as to suggest it — "Do you honestly believe me a fool as too give away such advantage over me in a manner so casual?"

"What advantage? Have you not been paying attention? I'm not from this world, nor am I versed in its legends, yours among them. I would gain nothing but the ability to properly address you as urged. Nor would any Champion of the Trial." — factual as that might've been…

"Even if your claims of ignorance are sincere…" — which Arturia had qualms still — "…your Master is almost certainly aware of who I was. You would simply ask her at a later date. Same goes for the rest of them."

"Point taken." — he conceded — "Granted, to be so sure my Master would recognize you by name alone… you're either very famous or extremely self-conceited. Can't tell which." — she was about to reply back, but bit her tongue to avoid being goaded any further.

A moment of quiet fell upon the hallway, the sole noise being the droning of both their Masters talking back at the sitting room and the drumming pieces of machinery in the metallic limb, as Archer applied the finishing touches. With the implant nearly done, she took a closer gander at it. He had opted for a simplistic design to it, more practical than anything else. An edgeless, sleek surface like a glove of plated armor, but none of the excessive bulk, dotted with black rivets and lined indentations. In all, he had modified the gauntlet into something of an arm-length, tight form armor piece more than an exact replica of the appendage it was to replace.

"Aaaaaaand… done." — he proudly held his completed creation aloft — "Been a while since I created a work of this caliber, if I cannot so humbly speak. About the only thing left to do is to attach it. So… do you want it?"

"May I see it?" — Archer handed over the prosthetic to Arturia, who began to analyze his work in detail. The metal was cold and laced with signatures of his magical energy, though she did not sense any hostility to it. Characteristics wise, it was satisfactory to her standards, though there was one particular element she found odd… — "It's… an admirable contraption from what I can assess on the surface. If it's a suitable replacement, remains to be seen…"

"Then you are willing to try it out at least?" — she was more at ease with the idea due to the lengthy talk they had, truth be had, if a bit reluctant howbeit.

"Go ahead." — she meekly gave permission, relinquishing it back. _I can always test it once and ask him to remove it afterwards. See how he responds to a rejection._

"If you don't say it like you mean it, you're just making me look like the villain. Anyway, this might sting a bi… okay it will sting a lot actually, so please don't lob my head right off when it starts. Ready?" — she nodded as he pressed the socket-end of the fake limb against the stump — "Here we go."

He did not lie. It hurt.

With his rippling magical energy, he began the harrowing ordeal of transmuting what was left of her left arm, tearing and remolding it piecemeal, to link it with the lifeless alloy. The procedure was comparable to how a blacksmith bonded two distinct pieces of metal together, heating up the soft tissue and magical circuits to near melting point, and then fusing welding them with their artificial analogues. One-by-one, repeated for each individual tendon and circuit line. Hastily as he strove to carry it out, to spare her the pain, he still needed to make sure every single jointure was properly connected, a task her own Magical Resistance provided an extra hindrance.

Throughout all of it, she made special note of never coming into physical contact with the other Servant if they ever met in battle. Archer's brand of magecraft could wreck untold devastation in her body, if he so wished to apply it in that manner.

"That should suffice. You should be able to move it around." — and in actual fact, she was clenching her new fist as firmly as its right counterpart — "So how is it? Come on, give it a try."

_Guess a craftsman is always keen to witness its creation in the hands of another._

The King of Knights speculated as she went to experiment his prosthesis with relatively simple motions. Index to thumb, middle to thumb, ring to thumb, pinky to thumb, clenching the palm, flexing the forearm back and forth, again and again, several time over. The metal lacked the same distinguished feeling as flesh, as was foreseeable, but otherwise it acted and moved just as the limb it was substituting, each joint fueled by a miniscule prana explosion, similar to how a combustion engine worked. More important still, it was devoid of any malicious machinations, as far as she could tell. Nevertheless, she continued to inspect it ad nauseam, trying to pick up any feature, any hidden traps, that it might've held.

Wholly fixated by the trappings of her new member, she neglected to mind an expectant Servant, who looked on progressively annoyed by her wearisome silence.

"Oh, I'm ever so indebted to you, Archer. Not only did you acted against your Master's command, but also built an exceedingly complex mechanical replacement for the arm I lost whilst you did so. God or Gods pardon my lapse, how unfair of me to have to thank you yet, for everything you've done." — fed up, Archer soliloquized in a poorly mimicked woman's voice (hers by the sound of it), much to Arturia's bewilderment — "Ah… never mind what I'm saying. You're the type that keeps yourself to yourself, and here you are dealing with someone with less than stellar selflessness. Besides, it is as you say, we'll become enemies soon, as far as we both know. It's best not to grow fond of a potential foe, eh? Pay no more mind to this gods' damnable idiot…"

"No, I cannot…" — a poignant argument had been made, her chivalric honor stained — "You are right, it has been unfair of me. I wouldn't go as far to say I'm indebted to you, but as it stands... you _did_ help me, when you had no need to, against your Master's instructions even. Such benevolence is a rare display between Servants. As far as those actions go, I apologize if I did not appear grateful, truly I am. Even if I cannot fully grasp as to the why, even if we're to stand on opposite sides of the battlefield, you have my sincere thanks for these deeds alone." — _Provided they remain true and not a wile._ She wanted to add, but it seemed pointlessly cruel to express her suspicions straight to his face. Something of a gut feeling assured her that his conduct was genuine… which was all the more cause for intrigue.

"To make a man feel remorse for wanting a mere 'thank you' after an arduous work. Some fiend you are turning out to be." — he teased in good humor — "But I'll take it. From you, Lannie, it's the best I can hope for. It's Brandon by the way. Bran for short, to keep it with the theme insofar."

"Bran-?" — his true name, spoken without a hint of restraint — "Why have you…!?"

"It's not like you know who I am Lannie, even now." — she did not. By itself, the word poured forward no understanding of the Heroic Spirit who sat in front of her — "And don't fret much about it. Even _if_ someone's eavesdropping on us, those who share my blood have a… shall we say, inclination towards the name. Be a long, long while before they could find out which of the Brandon's I happen to be."

The Servant Archer, Brandon he called himself, was a strange man. A fellow King with a demeanor of a simple builder, crude but noble on his own manner. Humble and jovial, but with the presence of a bitter and forlorn soul. A Hero whose better days were long past, forever lost. One that ascended to the Throne not in the noon of his triumph, but in the misery of its remembrance, the dusk. Perchance she felt a shred of empathy for such a Heroic Spirit, some degree of kinship, as far as to put some modicum of faith in him, despite discouraging past experiences. In spite of a clear ulterior motive, it wasn't out of veiled malice that he came to her aid, that Arturia was sure…

" _You want her for yourself."_

…but she wasn't as gullible to think it was _all_ out of the kindness of his heart either.

"Best we return to our Masters." — he suggested as both rose to their feet on prompt — "If my chronic fever is any indication, mine is moments away from strangling yours. Wouldn't want to miss that spectacle."

"Just one more thing." — that one particular element she was finding odd — "Before you altered it, my gauntlet was silver. For what specific reason did you turn its color to gold?"

"It fits."

"It fits?"

"It fits…"

…and no more mention was made of it.

/\

\/

:

_*tic*_

:

_*tac*_

:

_*tic*_

:

_*tac*_

:

_*tic*_

:

_*tac*_

:

Despite the incessant tick of the clock, Arturia could hear the soft breathing of a serene slumber coming from the other side of the partition, while she rested in the admittedly cramped space (or tried to at least). It was astonishing, to a disquieting degree even, how harmonious his sleep was, the tranquility stamped on his expression, given the sharp turn his fortunes had taken at the closure of that cold winter day. The life of a young man…

Emiya Shirou…

Kiritsugu's adopted son…

A student, seventeen years of age…

A magus in name only…

And her Master still...

In the end, Tohsaka failed to persuade him to release control over her, although she did elucidate him on the basis of the Holy Grail War… or was it now the Holy Trial of Seven as Archer implied. Naturally, he still had questions nor would he let himself be simply cast aside that's while such momentaneous affair occurred around him, that much was made clear to Arturia and Archer's Master. To settle his (and her) qualms over the unfolding developments, and maybe convince him of his foolishness, Tohsaka suggested they met with the agent of the Church tasked with overseeing the War.

Archer, however, protested the decision to do so that very night citing his and hers fatigue after their respective encounters with Lancer, markedly pointing out her new metal arm. He suggested, with arguable merit, that it would be wiser to lay low and go see 'that eerie Septon' the next day while the sun was still up, where there would less chances of them being attacked by other Servants. Grudgingly accepting his logic, and once more displaying her outbursting disapproval with how the entire scenario was playing out, Tohsaka said her farewells and the two left.

For the first time since her summoning, Arturia was left alone with the one who had beckoned her.

" _Not sure what to say. This all seems like a strange dream."_

" _If you don't wish to address me, you are not forced to do so. If I could, I would assume my ethereal form to not bother you."_

" _That would be unfair, wouldn't it? You're here because of me. I'm the one who called you, it stands that I have to take responsibility for my actions."_

" _You are doing a needless disservice to yourself, Master. Your actions were born out of desperation, out of the mortal danger you were faced with. No person can blame you for your present reluctance. I am perfectly content with if you decide to abandon the War, nor will I judge you in any negative light if you choose to do so. I can easily find another magus willing to fight by my side for the Grail."_

" _No, I cannot. I cannot do that."_

" _Why?"_

" _Because I cannot let you fight. I cannot let any of you die."_

" _Master… that is impossible. The reason us Servants were brought back to this world is to do battle to the death for the Grail, nothing else. To deny us of such, even if it were possible, is to deny us of our sole purpose. To deny one of us of the miracle that it can grant."_

" _I must sound like a hopeless cause. A green as grass squire thinking he knows better than the battle-weary knight. But I stand by my words. I might be unable to stop you, but I certainly won't… I will not let you fight alone. You, Tohsaka, Archer… you cannot ask me to bury my head in the sand and pretend none of this is happening. While you three risk your lives…"_

" _Archer's Master is sound in the words she spoke to you. Magi are cruel, deceiving by the very nature of the office. If I maybe be blunt, you're lacking both the skill and the mindset suitable to a magus. Noble as you intentions are, they're not welcomed in their trade. Those that carry them have them twisted and exploited to suit others needs, and are tossed aside when not needed. I will stand by your decision, no matter which you take. But please… I beseech you, do not persevere forward merely out of a sense of obligation towards me."_

" _I made a promise once, to the man who became my Father, before he passed away. That Emiya Shirou would become a Hero of Justice, a Hero he could not be. I won't permit myself to back out of this war, to take the easy way because I'm scared or do not comprehend what's going on. Call me pigheaded, stubborn, an idiot like Tohsaka did, but… a Hero never abandons those that helped him, those that are close to him."_

Not related by blood, he was nonetheless a true son of Emiya Kiritsugu. Inheriting his ideals, though not the methods he adopted to achieve them. Those that had kept the Magus Killer alive during the years he carried out his office, notwithstanding her personal disdain for them. A wholesome persona, more concern with the wellbeing of others in the face of death than his own, too inexperienced and gullible to see through their intent. Many a times she had seen what fate reserved for these individuals. Either a premature death with nothing but their unblemished morals to lull them eternally asleep, or a lengthy life so they could see them cruelly subverted and corroded by the pungent reality they inhabited.

Understandably, given the events that transpired that evening, her Mast….

" _Can I ask you a favor? Could you please… umm… stop calling me that? Master. It feels weird being addressed by that name. Shirou will do fine."_

…Shirou wished to retire for the evening. He made little of her objections to his intent of going to school in the morning, seeing that among other things he would be alone with Tohsaka, saying his education should be temporarily suspended in light of the War he got himself involved in. More of an objection was made when she escorted him back to his chambers, where she planned to stand guard beside him while he slept. He felt uncomfortable with a 'girl' sleeping in the same room as him apparently, much to Arturia's chagrin at both his uneasiness and the exact term which he used to describe her. They eventually reached a compromise where she would rest in the adjoining closet, with the divider providing a sufficient modicum of privacy while not impairing her ability to defend him. Unlike with Shirou, sleep did not come to her as the hours drifted by. The circumstances behind her summon, and the aching results of Archer's haphazard assistance, still tormented her to no end.

After a while, she decided it would be best to dedicate the rest of the nighttime to some other, more useful, task. She quietly left the bedroom, careful to not disturb Shirou, and wandered aimlessly through the hallways of the silent estate. There were minute differences here and there, trivial details that did not match her memory, but other than that the large residence remained the same as last time she was there. Especially sticking out like a sore thumb was the large hoard of odds and ends spread all over the place, as if somebody was treating the house as their personal disposal ground.

Perhaps not by chance, the meandering Servant winded up paying a visit to the small, and now wrecked, shed where she had taken her tumultuous first step into this world anew. The focal point of her interest befell on the faint contours of the Magic Circle in the center of the structure, responsible for her second coming and that a magus like Shirou couldn't have possibly conceived himself. Arturia found herself smiling once she discern the unique signature embed into its design.

"Irisviel…" — the Briton King had fond recollections of the relative short period of time spent in the company of the Einzbern homunculus, the lesser vessel of the Holy Grail. Serving as the escort of the sheltered lady, under the guise of a man, as she toured the city of Fuyuki, her first experience of the world beyond the walls of Castle Einzbern. Part of her could not help but imagine what it would've been like if she truly had been the Master she was masquerading as.

She shoved aside such fanciful notions and headed towards the dojo. Testing out her prosthetic seemed a more constructive time-spender than musing over an unrealizable past, on the could'ves and should'ves and would'ves, and lest she confronted her next opponent without being acclimatized to its incongruity. Making first sure she took off her armored boots and shin guards not to damage the glistening wooden floor of the ample area, Arturia started to train with several swings of her blade. A straightforward routine drill, slashing away at non-existent foes, nothing particularly fancy, just enough that she could gradually become better adjusted to the presence of the new limb.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

Judging by first few swings alone, she estimated that her prosthetic left arm was strong enough to wield Excalibur on its own, with an equal force it would've taken both hands to execute before. Another, perhaps intentional, feature she found about in the course of the workout was that she could freely rotate its wrist and elbow a full 360 degrees. That in and of itself opened a number of possible applications in combat, several new movements sword movements quickly cropping up inside her martial minded intellect and swiftly put to practice.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

Still, the better portion of her exercising was dedicated to becoming accustomed with using her non-artificial arm alone. Useful and earnest as Archer's gift happen to be, it was prudent not to become overly reliant on the offerings of others. Some preventive measures were also taken, namely coming up with a way to detach the grafted metal at a moment's notice, should it become necessary. A sufficiently large Prana Burst released at the jointure of flesh and steel would enough to eject it, she evaluated.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

Several more hours passed by.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

Her body had calmed down a bit with the workout.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

Neither the phantom pain nor the fake appendage bothered her nearly as much by that point.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

Her head, on the contrary, was still in a riotous bedlam.

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

_~schwing~_

Continuing to escalate despite her attempts…

_~schwing~_

Physically appeased, the Heroic Spirit kneeled on the center of the dojo to meditate, to gather her thoughts and quell the gathering storm within her. Yet, serenity proved just as elusive as sleep had been, the torment raging inside would not abate. As the dawn loomed near, a remote corner of her subconscious kept pulsating in earnest, much like the interior of her chest...

:

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

Her Instinct warning her of an all-pervading menace observing her…

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

An oppressive presence creeping in, surrounding her by all sides…

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

As if there was an enemy ingrained in the very dark of the night…

_**thump*_

_*thump**_

" _Do you seek to right this wrong…_ _ **to stop the coming long?**_ _"_

_***thump*_

_*thump***_

Those sizzling words came to the fore unsolicited…

_****thump*_

_*thump****_

" _Another chance then, King of Knights…_ _ **to**_ _ **carry forth the light's**_ _?"_

_*****thump*_

_*thump*****_

An unremitting echo reverberating within her confines…

_******thump*_

_*thump******_

" _To save this realm…_ _ **and all those men helm**_ _?"_

_*******thump*_

_*thump*******_

Matching in volume the loud beat of her heart…

_********thump*_

_*thump********_

…that too late she realized had been drowning out the approaching footsteps.

_***thump*** _

_Uh?_

_~schwing~_

She only got to see a raiment of black and white before the nightly silence was cut again by sound of a unseen blade.

:

/\

— **|—** **That of the Smith,** **industrious and ingenious** **—|—**

(designated as **Lancer** by those who know only of the Grail)

 **Master:** ( _unknown_ )

 **True Name:** Nymeria Ny Sar Martell

 **Alias:** Serpent of Ny Sar, Warrior-Queen of the Rhoynar, Kingtamer

 **Gender:** Female

 **Height/Weight:** 6 ft 4 (1,92m) 13 st (83kg)

 **Alignment:** Neutral Good

:

 **Might:** C

 **Fortitude:** E

 **Dexterity:** A→A+++

 **Prana:** C

 **Fortune:** D

 **Semblant Relic:** ( _unknown_ )

:

_**[[[Leitmotif:** History of Artemisia — 300: Rise of an Empire OST **]]]**_

:

Last ruler of the Essoi Rhoynar, Nymeria was Princess of the city of Ny Sar at the time when Prince Garin of Chroyane led the Rhoynish in a catastrophic war against the dragonlords of the Valyrian Freehold. To escape the certain destruction and slavery that would follow such defeat, she rallied those who had survived Garin's madness, mostly children, elderly, and those too weak to fight, and began a massive evacuation of the Rhoynar homeland. The legends tell of a fleet of ten thousand ships, many little more than floating planks of wood, departing from Mother Rhoyne's boiling corpse into the waters of the Summer Sea.

She led the Rhoynar first to the Basilisk Isles, then to Sothoryos, to Zamettar, to Yeen, to Naath, and to Abulu in the Summer Islands before finally disembarking at the mouth of the Greenblood after years of tormenting and perilous journey. There she made common cause with Mors Martell, the Andal Lord of Sunspear, wedding him and burning the remainder of her ships during the ceremony to dissuade any notion of returning to Essos, as some had done during the migration. There in Westeros, her people would make their home, she pledged as she declared her husband Prince of Dorne.

The newly founded House Nymeros Martell sent about to achieve that very goal, in what became known collectively as Nymeria's War. The unification campaign took more than a decade to accomplish, during which Mors would perish in combat, but ultimately Nymeria managed to subdue every self-styled King in the peninsula, even sending six of them in chains to Night's Watch. Her success, coupled with the natural intermingling of the Rhoynar with the native dornish, permanently changed the ethnic landscape of Dorne, making it a whole world apart from the rest of the Andal south of Westeros. More conflicts were fought between Nymeria and Kings of House Gardener and Durrandon before she peacefully passed away in her sleep, content with what she had built for those she had ruled.

(It's worth mentioning that despite being remembered as such, Warrior-Queen of the Rhoynar is a title imparted to her by the Andals, as Rhoynar monarchs traditionally styled themselves Prince or Princess, not as King or Queen. In their eyes, Mother Rhoyne was their great matriarch and one true sovereign. They considered themselves her children, all equal in standing to one another.)

:

— **Under the Smith's Heaven** **—**

_For those who labor day and night,_

_that forge the world of men right,_

_with their tools of mettle and might,_

_building the world for a future bright._

The perennial underdogs of the Trial, having never won the competition, much like the Champions themselves during their lives and the Masters the Smith prefers to chose as his representatives. Heroic Spirit's who fall under his banner have their natural dexterity greatly boosted, and bestowed protection against all manners of curses and nefarious sorcery. The greatest quality of his Champions, however, lies with their epic resolve, the uncanny ability to rise above the occasion to overcome a severe adversity, to see their toil through to the often bitter end. In an cruel world, however, this is but a flame that flares up and extinguishes just as quickly, a last cry against the destiny that doomed them to failure, achieving little other than consuming what's left of the Heroic Spirit's life.

:

— **Personal Skills** **—**

 **Battle Continuation [B]:** symbolizing one's strength of character when opposed with insurmountable odds, this Skill reflects an individual's persisting resilience throughout a larger conflict. One can more easily disengage from combat and survive injuries that otherwise would prove fatal to them. (Those under the Smith generally tote this skill.)

Many were the trials faced by the Warrior-Queen and the ruined civilization she found herself leading in the aftermath of the Second Spice War. From the catastrophic defeat at the gates of Volantis, to the bold evacuation of over a quarter million of her people, to the constants perils hounding them at sea and in unknown shores, until the landing at the mouth of the Greenblood. However, the Rhoynar persevered through all of it and eventually made the Dornish peninsula their new home, one Nymeria vowed they would never lose to another again.

 **Watermancy [C]:** a Skill that denotes proficiency with water manipulation spellcraft. Used by the fabled water wizards of the Rhoyne, thought to them by the deity of the eponymous river herself, this long lost breed of thaumaturgical theory allows the user to control all forms of potable water, regardless of its state. Beyond this ability, practitioners can also channel some of the latent power found in fresh water bodies to bolster their spellcraft, and in their environment can hold whole armies at bay by their lonesome. Users make use of several pieces of jewelry and specialized armor, worn throughout their bodies with little else to complement it so as to not interfere with the flow, which serve as natural conductors to the elemental prana. These trinkets are made out of copper or one of its alloys, such as bronze, seeing that the source of the Rhoyne is located in a mountainous region rich in coppery deposits and thus its magical energy and the spirits born out of it are naturally attuned to these metals.

Like the majority of Rhoynish nobility, Nymeria has been trained in this forgotten art, though her prowess pales in comparison to that of an expert water wizard. Regardless, her aptitude allows her to manipulate the liquids inside her body, resulting in an exceptional degree of flexibility and fluidity of movement, control over magically tuned objects without any physical exertion, and instantaneous communication with any water elemental.

 **Charisma [C]:** denotes the inherent quality that gives a person unusual influence and authority over others, one's innate ability to lead. Few are those that possess this skill, much less one of a high rank.

Nymeria's strength of character was arguably what held together the broken remnants of her people as they escaped their homeland during its destruction by the Valyrian Freehold, and the subsequent years of roaming exodus. If not for her, it is likely that the Rhoynar would've been scattered and ceased to exist as a people, either enslaved or destroyed by the numerous threats that preyed on them. Such talent also served her well once in Dorne, gaining the (sometimes begrudging) admiration of the landed Andal lords and smallfolk alike.

 **Military Tactics [B]:** represents an individual's competence with the management of armies and battle tactics. A skill usually gained by participating in numerous military confrontations, where strategic planning played a key role in the outcome.

Though not shining away from the front lines, Nymeria's greatest contributions on the battlefield often came when planning and discussing strategy with her commanders. It was her tactical cunning and unorthodox plans that guided her people to safety, away from the encroaching Freehold, and bested the numerically superior Andal forces she faced once in Westeros.

 **Kingtamer [A]:** ' _Six to the North, three to her bed, the others she fought, at her feet dead'_. An epithet the Warrior-Queen gained during her unification of Dorne and the subjugation of its many petty Kings, and her subsequent triumph over those of the Reach and Stormlands. Thus, all Heroic Spirits whose legend portrays them as King fall under its effect, which represents her domineering will over those who bore such title. Their psyche is wrapped and seeped into perceiving Nymeria in an endearingly exaggerated light and/or themselves in a downtrodden manner, as so she desires. It ignores any form of magical or mental resistance.

:

— **Semblant Relic** **—**

 **{Chrohea Thaiye}** *

The Bite of One's Ending Misery

 **Rank:** B

 **Type:** Anti-Unit

 **Range:** 1~10

 **Max Targets:** 1 person

*(Rhoynish: Pledge of Journey's End)

The Dornish weapon of choice, this spear was gifted to Nymeria by her first husband, Mors Martell, at their wedding ceremony, which marked the symbolic end of Rhoynar migration. The bestowed name is emblematic of this event, the vow to make Dorne her people's new home, never to flee or submit to another ever again. Through the later application of watermancy, the shaft was given the ability to twist and bend at her will and the spearhead was imbued with an assortment of poisons and curses. The most powerful of the latter is Tanatha Rhoyne, known as Greyscale in the common tongue of the Andals.

**{ _unknown_ }**

:

— **Bloodline Relic** **—**

**Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken**

Redder Sand under the Pierced Sun

_Passive_

The lands of Dornish peninsula are by in-large inhospitable to those that aren't indigenous to them, a fact that House Martell has used to great effect against any foe imprudent enough to attack their realm. Any invading force would find nothing but barren deserts, steep passageways and abandoned settlements to march through beneath a scorching heat, and nay a warrior in sight. Those that manage to survive the attrition would soon meet their demise by a myriad of enemies that emerge from the darkest reaches of the land and vanish just as fast. Such tactics have insured that no foreign power has been able to properly conquer Dorne since Nymeria's War.

This Relic acts as an automatic type of Territory Creation, whereas any foe that fights a Champion of House Nymeros Martell will do so is as if they were in the midst of the desolate wastes of their domain with the blazing red sun of Dorne bearing down on them. Their stamina is thus put under great pressure and prana consumption soars well beyond what a typical Master can supply, ensuring that victory in a long drawn out battle is all but unfeasible. The sole countervail against this ability is to engage such Champion at a range, since its effects lessen the greater the distance between them, or being themselves native to Dorne as well.

:

\/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is… larger than all the previous combined, the third chapter of Fate Long Night, starting everyone's favorite Ruled 63 fabled king of yore… and waifu, of course.
> 
> Hard to believe I managed to put it up before the end of November really, given its length and how long it took to write the last two chapters. Probably got a bit carried away with the battle and the admittedly expository dump towards the latter half, but I tried to ease it all in with some of the dialogue. With any luck, the latter gave you a better insight to the workings of this strange new Holy Grail War, from the perspective of someone probably just as in the dark as you are. If you still found the information confusing or uninteresting (and/or the comedy juvenile)… I can only ask for you to please bear it with me, and share your criticisms with me. I'll try to take every opinion into account.
> 
> To those wondering why I focused so much attention on Saber's conversation with Archer, and to a lesser degree Lancer, is because for me the greater 'kick' I take from FSN fics is when the canonical Servants interact with the non-canonical. And, again reiterating what I said last time, I mostly want to avoid paraphrasing the visual novel, hence why we don't see most of Rin and Shirou conversation since it's practically the same as it was there. Same goes with Saber and Shirou, though that will all change when it begins to diverge more prominently from the VN sequence of events. You'll know when…
> 
> Hopefully, the greater content will make it up for the (slightly) longer wait you had to endure since the last chapter, and the almost guaranteed longer you'll have to put up with till the next. Yes, quite unfortunately, my master thesis is picking up steam again (read: I've been a lazy bum for the past few months and now have really to start getting into it) so the next chapter will take a while more to churn out, though I'll try using the Christmas break to make up for lost time.
> 
> But fear not, as reward for your patience…
> 
> Next time on: Fate Long Night!
> 
> Three new Champions make their long awaited debut!
> 
> That's right, THREE!
> 
> A trio! A triad! A triumvirate!
> 
> A trine! A trinity! A ternion!
> 
> A troika! A triangle! A threesome! (no, not that kind)
> 
> Thrice the amount! Triple the fun! Threefold the drama!
> 
> For I am a generous GOD! (Guy Out there Doodling)
> 
> So stay tuned, and if you have any questions feel free to ask! And don't forget to leave a comment if you're enjoying the story so far!


	5. No One

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

Short footsteps, brief echoes, unhurried in nature…

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

Three feet of wood hitting a stone pavement…

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

The cadent sound reverberated throughout the deserted halls of the vast underground complex that laid beneath the foundations of the large manor, imperceptible from the outside as it was its intended function. The deeper one journeyed into it, the more the ambient stillness was eaten away by a droning noise. Yet, one could still say with great certain that its catacombs are entirely devoid of life.

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

Tiny things… numerous things… revolting things… writhing away in the damp darkness, a continual squirming cacophony with their sinning existence, the intensity of which ramps up when they are disturbed by the particular presence of one of their kin. A crooked figure that made its way towards the bottom of the ample crypt, descending the final flight of uneven stairs two stories high. An old man…

" _No. Not a man."_

Yes. One would find hard to define it as a human being. Perhaps it once was such, but not anymore. An assorted pile of flesh mashed together into the shape of one merely, retaining a vague resemblance to what it was in times immemorial. Driven by a single intellect, a single desire. An incomprehensible lust for victory, a defiant cry out against the inescapable destiny lying ahead for them all, to triumph over it irrevocable concept. Such pitiful, deluded existence… should one still had the ability to experience pity… or any other…

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_***tap*** _

The elder came to a halt, reaching the center of the great amphitheatre, punctuating his last step to exert his status over the agitated denizens groveling in their packed nests, to cease their ruckus. As his audience obediently quieted and with no one observing, he finalized the required preparations for the ritual, executing them with an ease that most of his fellow peers would find astonishing. The casualness by which he went through the various motions was telling of how second nature it all was for him, how far beyond he was in comparison to the rest of them.

Finally, he intoned the final act of the play…

" _Материал изготовлен из серебра и железа. Фундамент из камня и великого князя договора._ _Ан мой великий мастер Schweinorg._  
Защита от сильного ветра. Включает все двери, выйти из короны, циркулировать _промежность к царю._  
_Заполните, заполнить, заполнить, заполнить, заполнить._  
_Это повторяли пять раз._  
_Только нарушается в течение всего периода._  
_－_ _Приговор._  
_Вы оставляет для меня все, моя судьба оставляет все на свой меч._  
_Это основано на Грааля, ответить если следовать вашей воли и эту причину причины._  
_Если обетов здесь. Я благость мира. Я зло во всем мире._ _  
__Ты небо с тремя душами слов. Выйди из круга угнетения, опекун дух бревне_ _－_ _!_ _"_

A frugal voice chanted in a tongue that seemed rusted, long since used, with a faded trace of nostalgia in it, even though he himself did not realize it. He recalled doing it as such, therefore he did it the same as then, a creature like him would tell should asked, never to admit his attachment to such earthly sentimentalism. In spite of such trifling details, the elderly patriarch completed the invocation, eliciting the summoning of a Heroic Spirit…

" _No. Not Heroic."_

Indeed. For no hero would heed his call, for no hero would come to serve this thing in the shape of a human. And so no one did…

"Mmm…"

The complexly drawn circle embedded unto the old bedrock itself remained empty as it had started, despite the magical laced mist indicating that the spell had produced something of a result. The expecting Master found it strange, perhaps wondering if he had failed…

" _No. Not failed."_

Of course not. Everything had been done right, he knew. For him, to have committed an error was inconceivable. He, that had implemented the system during the inception of the Holy Grail War, two centuries ago. He, that had managed to bind Heroic Spirit to a human magi, defined what Master and Servant were. He, that had crafted the very spells now adorning his hand, that bestowed total rule over a legendary soul. No matter the ages passed, no matter the years since the first instance, his mastery over such a monumental feet would not vanish.

But the fact remained still… no one had appeared.

"Servant stalking in the shadows, silent killer… Assassin." — he addressed the obscurity that beset the stage he stood upon — "Come forth. Cease your hiding, and make yourself known." — to then command in a curt tone, convinced of his success. The brand allotted by the Grail was proof of it.

The haunting specter decided to acquiesce.

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

Footsteps, much lighter than his, intermittent, coming from his back.

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

The thing in shape of a man turned around towards their source…

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

…but the sound kept coming from his rear.

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

Regardless of which direction he faced, always from behind.

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

Approaching, but never getting closer, ever distant.

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

"Hmph… with a flair for the dramatic, I see?" — he spoke, realizing it wasn't worth the effort to physically tire himself by dancing around the same spot — "What do you intend with this… theatrical show of yours, Spirit?"

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

"To show off your artistry with the shadows that hide you?" — what was there to impress?

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

"Do you pretend to mock me I wonder? Do you take some degree of amusement with this childish defiance?" — or to laugh at as for that?

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

"Or maybe you seek to intimidate me with this performance?" — why put fear into a measly worm, anyway?

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

"Enough of this charade. I have no patience for inane games…" — implying one would bother itself with entertaining some oversized maggot — "…and I would rue to waste a Command Spell to curb this unruliness."

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

"Present yourself where I can see you and reveal your face to me…." — when vermin like it are just meant to be squashed like the disgusting nuisances they are.

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

_*tap*_

"…now." — the non-person cried out.

_*tap*_

The specter complied once more…

"Zolgen…"

…and for the first time in centuries, ever since he had cast out his humanity of his own volition in the pursuit of his grander goal, Matou Zouken found himself at an utter loss for words, in a state of absolute shock. A voice had answered his summons, a beautiful timbre he recognized immediately despite the seeming perpetuity elapsed, despite the impossibility, despite what he had to become. How could he not?

Even a creature like him still remembered the woman he had loved and lost.

"Jus…tea…ze…?" — between the stammer his speech had devolved into, he managed to invoke her name, that of the Holy Maiden of Winter, now standing a few feet away from him.

It was the exact same visage he kept in memory, a beauty that surpassed what human vocabulary could quantify or qualify. He felt the worms both within and out thrashing more and more into a frenzy as she caressed his cheek and her face drew closer, their primal minds aroused by her existence. A great banquet they perceive her as, to gorge on wantonly, made all the more delectable by the immaculacy they were to devour, to defile. It was painful reminder of his disgusting self, the length he had to go to subsist past the rot of his original body. He recoiled back several meters, breaking her touch, not wishing to soil such pure image with his filth.

"How…!?" — she saw the plethora of questions rising inside. Expression came rarely to the fore, so it became easy to read him when he did — "This is impossible… I saw you! Two hundred years ago…!"

"…when this one renounced her life to become the core of the Greater Holy Grail, the tool that can confer miracles… the same one that allows me to stand here." — a fate he was forced to witness powerlessly — "You called me, Zolgen… and so I came to you."

 _Why? Why now? Why only now?_ He asked without saying.

"To achieve what we sought? To cure the ills of this world? An utopia never reached, never to be reached. A paradise evermore lost. Is that truly what you want still? After all this time? No." — the truth is that he had forsaken that purpose long ago — "Why do you keep going on then?"

"…" — both understood why already. A selfish pursuit for immortality, he care not to admit to her… that he had forgotten.

"What…" — five fingers dug into the right side of her face and then swiped left, her unsullied white skin excorticated as they moved — "…did your demand got you at the end of it all, old friend?"

"Nagato…?" — to reveal the countenance of the third member of the triumvirate that had constructed the Heaven's Feel rite.

"A dolorous existence… to live with nothing but the abject sorrow… chaining yourself unto this realm just to witness failure…" — again, a swiping hand peeled off the outer layer of flesh before Zouken.

"…after failure…"

One after the other, with each lumbering step forward, in quick succession...

"…after failure…"

More familiar faces that ancient head of the house had come to know…

"…after failure…"

Those that he had the misfortune of inheriting his blood…

"…after failure…"

His kin as it degenerated over the generations…

"…after failure…"

The might of his lineage eroded by the sands of time…

"…after failure…"

Useless, each and every single one of them, useless…

"…after failure…"

More unworthy of his name than those that preceded them…

"…after failure…"

And the two at the end in particular, still vividly fresh in his thoughts…

"…after failure…"

Byakuya, a born disgrace outdone only by his pathetic son…

"…after failure…"

Kariya, an apostate weakling who wasted his rare potential…

"…so why go on, Zolgen?" — again Justeaze's, her ruby eyes locked into his, strands of her silver hair prickling his decrepit hide — "What's to persist travelling down this roundabout road? What's to strive for an unobtainable you already given up on? What's to live in this pain? Tell me, is it not better simply to stop? To be at peace with that which is inexorable? To… _die_."

She peered into his doubt. To simply accept the outcome he had longed to avert, even at the price of his soul's degradation. Such notion had grown alien to the elderly magus.

"Can you not say that is preferable to what became of me? What became of you? Do you not envy those you saw depart? Many your days have been, too many, long and unhappy. Breaking free from the mortal coils that afflict you, that will make it all the sweeter should you relief yourself from your pointless quest."

 _Futile and hollow._ Her words made him realize to what he had truly sunken into. What his original ambition had twisted itself into with the gradual decay he underwent.

"Death is a boon, Zolgen, most precious. No matter to where life one leads, all of its branching routes, it is the certainty awaiting us at the end of one's path. A comfort to those who suffer, an incentive to those who seek happiness in the finite moments they have, an impetus that drives to the forging of deeds that can surmount it."

Yes. Part of him did desire to be done with it, to be relieved of the weight he had been holding on unto since. He was tired, weary of the pain he had to bear with… and for what?

"So why deny it with such fervor? Let it cleanse your soul, of all its sins, of all its virtues. A blank slate once more, reborn to be happy and sad, to love and to hate anew. To live and die, like a human being again. Don't you want it…? The Gift he offers…?"

She kissed his neck with frigid steel.

" _Valar Morghulis_ …"

But not _every_ part of him…

"A gift?" — he spat with poison in his tongue — "To leave my legacy unfinished, in the hands of undeserving trash? To let my vision I carried for half a millennium perish with me? To not see the day that I realized it, that I honor _her_ sacrifice? That all my efforts, that all the agony I endured was for naught!? You think of it as a _gift_!?"

His pride, his obsession remained, lurking and rooted deep. They would not permit it.

"I, Zouken Matoi, command you, Servant! Remove her face, and do not make use of it in my presence ever again!" — he mandated with the authority granted to him by the Holy Grail — "Hers, Nagato's, all those unfit to be my heir, none I do not wish to see!"

As a section of his brand faded, the fake Justeaze did as he instructed. Stepping back, she shrouded her head with a cowl, her face and hands swallowed by a dark void. To the elderly Matou, the Servant's true form resembled a stereotypical ghost, with only the simple hooded robe it wore, black on its right half and white on its left, being perceptible. Nothing else could be discerned about it, not even its gender (if it had any), every characteristic concealed beneath the disheveled woolen fabric. And to further accentuate the phantasmagorical picture, he could not see any feet in spite of the cloth not reaching the muggy floor, making it seem as though it was levitating.

To his chagrin, there was very little for an imperious man like Matou Zouken to get a good assessment of what it was, of what he had wrought. A task in no small degree made harder by the inner turmoil it had managed to stir up, hindering his ability to form a suitable judgment. Or at least one that extended beyond a poorly disguised sense of animosity at its insolent imitation of the von Einzbern magus.

" _Valar Dohaeris_ …" — one spoke in an absolute neutral tone, wholly bereft of emotion and humanity, akin to a machine — "As it was your command."

"Hmph…" — a sullen aura exuded out of the manlike cockroach, markedly directed at the Servant — "In the future, you are to abstain from such pointless theatricals… nor will you attempt to provoke your Master in such a manner. Have I made myself clear?"

"This one serves. It will be as my Master wishes." — an assurance was given.

"Good." — though guarded still, for now he was appeased with the provided pledge of allegiance — "Then let us proceed, shall we? Tell me, which of the nineteen Hassan-i-Sabbah are you?"

"No one." — but not so much with the follow up.

"No one?" — a remark he was quick to attribute to the Servant's continual defiance, as evident by the disdain he loaded his retort with — "Though you seem to lack the white mask, I am speaking with the Servant Assassin. Am I not?"

"That is this one's trade, yes." — but one was not called that.

"Then speak. Which of Hassan's facets are you?" — so certain the old magus was, mistaking blind arrogance for a sharp acumen.

"No one." — to no one respond in turn again, with Zouken's stoic demeanour faltering over his growing irritation.

"Preposterous. That cannot be. Without a catalyst, only the Old Man in the Mountain can be summoned. It is impossible for it to be anyone other." — a natural conclusion to come to, having been witness to every iteration of the ceremony he created. The very designation of the class, Assassin, in itself guaranteed that none but one of the so called hashshashin would be summoned by default — "Do not attempt to fool me, Spirit, nor mistake my tolerance for infinite. You do well in ceasing this persistent insubordination of yours immediately. I'll ask once more. Which of the Hassan's are you? _Who_ are you?"

"No one." — were it he a Master in the Holy Grail War.

"Enough! This charade grows tiresome. Do not forget your place, Servant. Need I force the truth out of you?" — the rotten vermin emphasized by displaying his two other Command Spells in full view.

"You can do as you choose. This one's answer would be the same." — not one bit fazed, the hooded entity informed — "No one."

"That's what you are? Not Hassan but… no one?" — he belatedly grasped.

"Yes." — no one professed.

"If not the Old Man in the Mountain… then who? Which name do you bear?" — rather than letting the Servant repeat himself once more, Zouken amended his questioning — "Were not human? Did you not have one?"

"This one was. This one had." — _How long since?_ one was still left to wonder — "But this one forgot. Nothing is known. Nothing is true."

"A Heroic Spirit failing to remember its true identity? Its own legend? How is it possible that you even ascended to the Throne then? Barring the original assassins, that is not feasible, not without some sort of moniker acknowledged both by you and in folklore. 'No one' is too much of an abstract. You must possess a signature in its records, a proper name." — the mere prospect that something erroneous had occurred with the ritual did not even registered in the feeble intellect of the proud magus.

"This one's name… this one's face… this one's self… many things thrown away, far back. The heritance of one's father and mother, of a life prior, buried amongst those without breath. Too deep, too many. Cannot find, cannot tell, cannot distinguish anymore. All look the same… all look dead." — a hall of lifeless leather where no I existed, no I could exist, no I should exist — "An instrument is left merely, no different than a blade. An instrument needs no name, only to be used. An instrument is all but what you require, is it not?"

"Hmm… I suppose it is. An instrument to achieve a miracle, you and the rest. Whether or not you will be a propitious tool in accomplishing that goal… that yet remains to be seen." — a heavy stillness befell the stage, as Zouken pondered on the next course of action on account of the unforeseen development — "'Amongst those without breath'. That peculiar ability you possess. To assume the identities of the dead, and acquire their memories by… donning their faces. Tell me more of it."

"All leave their self at his steps when needed no longer, a discarded shell peeled off as their soul is cleansed. All pilgrims to his shrine, an ego as their offering, in exchange for his Gift. In this world, in the one above and below and around, it does not matter. To him, all come to speak, all without exception. The Many-Faced God, deliverance given. Those his serfs perform his sacrament, the oblations worn as masks, mercy granted by those who've experienced it. He knows when. He knows which. Dead hold no lies." — though a black chasm was all Zouken could see of the Servant's head, the soul peering gaze was vividly palpable — "A love mourned… a friend missed… the disillusionment in the years' wake…"

"And what exact reason compelled you to parade them in front of me?" — to remind him that he still held unto that youthful naïveté and idealism he so loathed.

"This one sees the pointless misery you make yourself endure, the never-ending grief born out the frustration, of what fate has stolen from you. Vengeance for all that you could not realize." — much as believed himself above such petty concepts, in the end all of it boiled down to that. The tantrum of a child that didn't get what he wanted — "Him of Many Faces drives this instrument to release you from such torturing burden, to bestow you with the Gift… but it must be accepted, never imposed. Remembering those lost, those one's faith consoles into believing can be met again in an hereafter… it makes accepting his Gift easier… easier to abandon one's stubborn cling to the false sanctity of life… to let it go."

"Bah!" — he derided with swiftness — "I am not to die yet, nor does your deity's false philosophy mean anything to me. The concept of death is but an obstacle for Mankind to overcome, that one day will conquer, not submit to. Weak see it as an inevitability, and the meekest of them a reward. Do not judge me as either, Spirit. Servants are but a sample of Third Magic, the materialization of the soul, Heaven's Feel. This ceremony, you and the remainder six, are testimony to the mendacity of its certitude, that it can be cheated, that a human will can preserver long after the flesh itself disintegrates. A labor of two hundred years, a labor that has cost me exceedingly, a labor that I'll see to its completion when my soul drinks from the sacred cup."

"The prize is what you seek then? Is this one to eliminate the others?"

"Yes." — his putrid lips formed a vile smile — "The Grail that sent you, the holy artifact that at last can render my vision in full, and my triumph made complete. You and I will see it through, all in its due time."

"How is this one to proceed?"

"Whether or not you are Hassan, I trust you still possess Presence Concealment, like all those of your class. While I hadn't account for that unusual ability of yours… it has its possible applications nonetheless." — so gullible…

"Which face is this one to don? Who should this one become?"

Matou Zouken grinned in delight, a treat he rarely got to enjoy, as his decade long plan was beginning to bear fruit much sooner than he had anticipated. The early coming of the fifth iteration of the War had been the first pleasant surprise, the maturation of his vessel the second, and now he had acquired the services of a Heroic Spirit possessing a remarkably useful talent. Which face is it to don… who should it become… yes, in the recesses of his ancient conscious, the seed of an idea had already began to sprout. In their holes, the worms sang in unison with their clustered kindred, to the feast that was to come…

To the victory longed for…

To no one's tune…

/\

\/

Again, the lack of emptiness in the large mausoleum was disturbed by the existence of life, a warmth that could only result from numerous metabolic processes.

Again, the worms squirmed with renewed fervor, starvation rousing them from their stupor.

Again, more sources of sustenance stood on the lower level of the catacombs, for the crude creatures could not perceive living organisms as anything else.

"…first like this… then afterwards… I have to…"

The girl was the familiar meal, the nectar they craved the most. Like trained dogs, their furor grew louder by the minute in mounting anticipation for the expected satiation of their appetite. Making best to ignore the ravenous murmur, she divided her attention between the strict instructions written by her grandfather and the summoning circle that, unbeknownst to her, he had made use of just a few days prior. Patiently and in spite of her discomfort, the young woman kept going through the procedures, above all else not wanting to fail in the task she was entrusted with, wanting to feel like she had fulfilled something with her life.

"Why do you have to be so damn slow!? Hurry it up!"

The boy was also known to the creatures, but unwelcomed, his stench and taste often souring that of their favorite repast. Pacing back and forth behind her, he awaited with loud irritation, befitting a petulant child in a fit of temper. A mind lagging miles behind his body in maturity, constantly envious of what his younger sister had, resentful of her usurpation. It was a duty that was rightfully his to undertake, not hers. He was the true heir of the house, not some worthless jezebel without a drop of Matou blood in her, no matter how many times the soil was rummaged by the worms.

"…s-s-sorry Nii-san. I'm trying my best… I-I've to do this correctly, otherwise…" — such a forlorn cause it was.

"…because I would screw it up?" — holding on to the believe that her brother had the mettle to overcome his inferiority complex — "Is that what you are saying?"

"N-N-No… it's just… it's too complicated…" — hopeless as she might be.

"Ah, I see. It's too complicated for me then, but not for you. Is that right?" — he would always be the greater lost cause.

"…no… I didn't mean it like that…" — perpetually in the shadow of such weakness.

A potent blight for one's soul… and she could only laugh at it.

"Who…!?" — the loud snicker echoed through the ample chamber, interrupting the sibling banter. The boy turned around at the source, sitting by the staircase — "What are _you_ laughing at!?"

And then there was the stranger, unknown and unspoken. An enigmatical woman that neither had noticed entering the crypt, now perceptible only because she had given away her position. Seen because she let herself be seen. The two teens had a difficult time forming an impression of her, and even the worms had trouble in what to make of her opaque presence. Their screaming primitive instincts locked in a battle against the hunger that wanted to consume. She was too dangerous, her scent too perfidious.

Observing the unfolding scene with marked amusement, the woman let out another short chortle before addressing the fuming brat.

"Oh, pardon me. I do not wish to appear rude… but the sight simply so amusing to for me to watch. A tiny little lamb poking around a shy wolf." — and his huffy fury made it all the more hilarious — "Though you should tread carefully. The day the wolf finds it bothersome, the lamb's coat is stained red."

"You…" — he spat to the side in disdain — "I don't know what goes in that old geezer's mind… Putting the fate of my bloodline on the hands of two outsiders, especially some slattern fresh from the street."

"Nii-san, you shouldn't…" — wise to the kind of person the woman was, the girl tried to defuse the situation before it inevitably blew up in her brother's face.

"Oh, the reason is actually quite simple, boy. It's because you're useless. Useless as a magus, useless as a fighter, useless as an heir. Didn't your grandfather told you so already? The entire Matou line past Mr. Zouken has no more value than excrement. I refused the marriage contract with your father twenty years ago precisely for that motive." — the story sold to them, and a true one in fact. That the elderly magus hadn't taken that same slight well, and later devoured the woman for her impertinence, was of course omitted from the introductions — "To think one my children could turn out to be such waste…"

"Watch your mouth, you fucking bitch!" — the blue-haired boy barked — "You best keep it quiet, or else…!"

"Or else what, boy? What'll you do to me, I wonder? When the wolf has bite to it." — his bravado was quick to fade when she stood up and approached him — "I am not your sister… and I am not one to take threats lightly, empty as they might coming from the likes of you."

"No, please! He didn't mean to…" — again the girl did her utmost to protect her idiotic sibling, showing no hesitation in leaping to his defense.

"Shut up! I don't need your-!" — the boy, most unappreciative, shifted around to scold her for daring to empathize with him — "GAAAHHHH!" — but got cut off once he felt the woman's grip on his crotch.

"Mr. Zouken only keeps you around so can eventually pass down his genes, about the only thing you seem to be applying yourself to." — her hand clutched his precious tool harder, robbing him of his voice — "To him, you're nothing but breeding stock, and a meager one at that. So as long as these are intact, I can well do whatever I please with the rest of you. And I do fancy myself the creative type…"

"You're hurting him! Stop!" — she pleaded with the older female.

"Aww, isn't it touching? The worried little sister protecting her mean ol'big brother, even after all the awful things he does to her." — she let him go and returned to her seat — "You should be grateful. If it wasn't for her, your family wouldn't even have a future."

"Who…?" — such delicious beggarly hatred — "Who the hell do you think you are!? To come to this house and think you can order me around!? What gives you the right to do any of this!?"

"Who, me? I'm your babysitter…" — Zouken had instructed her to watch over the two of them afterall — "…and right now I'm telling the baby to sit down and shush."

"If you think…!" — the toothless mutt's woofing was becoming tiresome.

"Oh give it a rest will you, boy? I do not wish stand in this damp place any longer than necessary. All this humidity is ruining my hair. And if you want to play with your sister, that can wait until later. Let her finish." — the girl winced.

She knew her brother would vent out his frustrations on her afterwards, an easy target for him to turn into a scapegoat, to project all of his owns faults upon. And for his sake, she was determined to endure it. It was the least she could do for him, especially after he was left feeling emasculated both by the woman's actions and her pity. The latter, he despised above all others, to be looked down by someone as deplorable as her. Yet, for all her willingness, there was now a tinge of betrayal creeping inside her heart, fear that she would forever lose the one she held the dearest.

As her brother stewed over his anger, she got back to her assignment and, having laid all the essential groundwork, started to intone the familiar chant.

 _Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. The ancestor is my great master Schweinorg._  
_The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate._  
_Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill)._  
_Repeat every five times._  
_Simply, shatter once filled._  
_――――I announce._  
_Your self is under me, my fate(doom) is in your sword._  
_In accordance with the approach of the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer._  
_Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead._  
_You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance ―――！_

A different language than the old magus', native to the land his family had adopted. It was inconsequential for the summoning. As long as the meaning behind the words was known to the person reciting them, the Master to be could use any it so wished. As she proclaimed each of them, the engraved contours of the Magic Circle began to crackle up, bursting with bright crimson energy, building up to an explosion… that never came, as the light soon faded away with nothing to show for. Left lost by the apparent failure, the girl sat beside the empty altar, with a blank expression stamped on her face, while a heavy silence lingered on.

"Well, where is it!? Where the hell is the Servant!?" — the boy loudly questioned upon grasping that the spot where the Heroic Spirit should've appeared was vacant.

"I… I-I don't know… I did the whole thing as it-" — her timid excuse only served to fuel the boy's seething rage.

"You good-for-nothing whore… you screwed up! That's what happened! You just had to!" — she hadn't. Quite the contrary, she had done everything correctly. Not that he would know — "Can't you do anything right!? Not even this!?"

"I-I'm sorry…" — her self-regard non-existent, she was quick to accept her brother's assumption without arguing back.

"You're sorry? You're sorry!? Is that all you can say!? I'm sorry!? All you had to do was summon a Servant, and you can't even do that much!? — coming from the boy whose blood grandfather didn't even trust him to perform the ceremony in the first place.

"You best step away from her, boy." — an earnest warning, even if her purpose was to entice the boy to remain closer, to act more violently against the girl in defiance to her advice.

And he did just that, forcibly pulling her by the wrist and raising his opposing hand with the unmistaken intention of hitting her. The young magus did not attempt to resist him. Better to simply let her brother unload his wrath out on her, she had come to learn. Better it be on her than on someone else. She renounced herself to close her eyes and await the first blow to come… which never materialized, as the magic circle in front of the two abruptly erupted into a raging inferno of black and red plumes. As they danced and howled, the moisture saturating both the air and the bedrock evaporated instantly, the worms closer to the epicenter screeching in agony as they were burnt into a crisp.

And in the center of the shrine, engulfed by the darken blaze…

:

 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血 _ **火火火火火火火**_  
_**火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血 _ **火火**_  
_**火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_  
_**火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火**_ 血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血血 _ **火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血  
血 _ **火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血  
血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火**_ 血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血  
_**火火火**_ 血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血 _ **火火**_ 血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血  
_**火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血 _ **火**_ 血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血 _ **火火**_ 血血 _ **火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_  
血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火**_ 血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火**_  
血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_  
血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火**_  
血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火**_ 血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_  
血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血  
_**火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血  
_**火**_ 血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血  
_**火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血  
血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血  
血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血  
血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血  
血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血血血血  
血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血 _ **火火火**_ 血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血 _ **火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血  
_**火火**_ 血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火**_ 血血血血血血血  
_**火火火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火**_ 血血血  
_**火火火火**_ 血血 _ **火**_ 血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火火**_ 血血血  
_**火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火火火**_ 血血血  
_**火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血  
_**火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火**_ 血血血血血血血  
_**火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血  
_**火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血  
血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火火火火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血 _ **火**_ 血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血血

:

…stood the Servant.

" _No, not the Servant."_

That's right. The Champion, the woman knew. That of the Mother. For what other God would answer the girl's beckoning if not her? The savior of the downtrodden, the giver of mercy, the maternal embrace. A gander into her harrowing existence made it simple to foresee from which of the Seven Heavens the Heroic Spirit would descend. A Master without the resolve to fight, trapped in an inescapable despair, a slave to her dejected misery… her silent pleas for help evermore unanswered, she came to understand and, in the end, resign herself to. The Mother always held a soft spot for their kind. And, as it was the case with most of her thralls, in the Champion's veins coursed the fire of Old Valyria, an all-conquering flame…

"GAH!" — that did not particularly take kindly that a certain young man was assaulting his Master.

The boy was left unable to speak, beyond a few muffled gaps, or to sweat even, as the perspiration turned to vapor as soon as it was excreted by his smoldering skin. So too were his tears, as the Champion lifted him off the ground by the neck with negligible effort, strangling him in the process. At first dumbfounded and cowed by the Valyrian's sudden manifestation, the girl grew increasingly alarmed as she noticed her brother's struggle abating rapidly.

"No, you're going to kill him! Let go of Nii-san!" — her frantic appeals were met with a sideways glare from the Heroic Spirit, who otherwise ignored them — "Please! I beg of you, st-!"

"Silence." — he commanded, the sheer sternness of his voice making up for the lack of volume — "You are the sorceress responsible for my summoning."

"…y-y-yes…" — she answered, though he wasn't making a question.

"This whelp was causing you harm… this hand lain upon you. By the extent of the bond you and I share…" — he grabbed the guilty appendage — "…this hand was laid upon a king. A most grave crime…" — and crushed it whole beneath his armoured grip, bones giving off a satisfying crack — "…one that warrants its loss."

The girl cringed in impotent horror as the boy squealed, mutely due to the chokehold, and bright crimson blood poured between the obsidian fingers of the Champion. That neat color contrast was somewhat of an heraldic theme emblazoning the Valyrian, the very picture of a rescuing knight. Tall, strapping, powerful both physically and in sheer mien, clad in black scale armor with a jeweled circlet resting atop his golden-white hair, and even a red cape to punctuate the gallant fantasy. A shame it was that the saved damsel was well past spoiled…

"No! Let him go! I... I... I, Matou Sakura, hereby command you! **Let him go!** "

…and a greater one it was that she went and squandered one of her Command Spells just to save her scum of a brother, showcasing none of her chronic self-doubt as well as a shocking amount of assertiveness. Compelled by the spent third of his Master's brand, the Mother's did as instructed and let him go… by hurling the boy towards the nearby wall. He landed with sufficient force that it left fractures in the moldy rock, but nothing that would permanently cripple him.

_How unfortunate._

"Nii-san!" — worried, the girl was quick to rush to his side, mentally berating herself for not having been more specific with her instructions, only to be have her path cut off midway by her Champion.

"I shall make it clear to you this once. Misuse another of the incantations that bind me to you. On a command that robs me of my agency, however a fraction of it." — her reflection shone on the lustrous surface of his Noble Phantasm, his Semblant Relic — "I will be forced to do away with you, and find a Master more becoming of my protection. A dragon does not bow to the will of another. To that of some paltry dreg's subservient chattel much less."

 _Typical._ The guest mentally snorted.

That emblematic conceitedness endemic to all Valyrians. To enter the world at his own discretion, rather than to the tune of someone else's summons, of someone lesser. An opportunity both to discern the character of the human responsible for his coming and flaunt his supremacy over the lowly pissant. No different than some courtesan buying into the pretense that her designation and high price somehow ranks her any different from a prostitute.

 _Time to relay the good news, I guess_.

"Then you find yourself in luck, Servant." — the woman interjected — "That girl there is not going to be your Master for the rest of this War. I am."

"Are you? And how is that to be done?" — the Heroic Spirit questioned, dismissive but nonetheless intrigued by her declaration.

"With this." — she waved around the tome that Zouken had entrusted her with in full view, the Book of the False Attendant — "A grimoire specially prepared by my host. It will allow the girl to transfer her authority as your Master onto it. Thus, being its owner, her rights become mine on a… momentary basis, shall we say."

"A plot born out of folly and sacrilege, that of this host of yours." — he derided — "The laws dictated by the Seven are wholly inviolable, not shaped by the whims of a mortal. Her choice is immutable."

"Immutable perhaps… but bendable nonetheless, is they not? Especially seeing that I speak of the very magus who forged the chains that bind you unto this plane." — she revealed.

"This sorcerer is one of the original diviners?" — despite his best attempts to suppress it, she could still detect a hint of shock beneath the stoic façade.

"Indeed. He is a founding member of this most grand rite." — a lie it was not — "And I can vouch for his mastery in the magical crafts."

"That may be." — he cast a glance at the girl — "But why was she the one who carried out the summoning ritual then? This needless subterfuge, when you yourself could've performed it in her stead. To challenge what the Gods ordained. Why?"

 _Because I'm like you, Valyrian._ _I cannot become a Master through normal means_. She grinned on the inside, taking absolute delight in sewing the deception.

"A failsafe. To keep me from betraying my employer. Should I transgress the contract I have with his family, the book can be destroyed at his beck and call, returning the girl to her original role." — she explained, again with a modicum of truth to it.

"A sellsword Master." — he, like most of his ilk, did not found the notion pleasant.

"I prefer the term mercenary."

"It does not matter what a rat refers itself to, it will reek just as foul."

"Being a rat comes with its advantages, Servant. Besides, a base rodent such as myself is more preferable than the hand you were dealt with. Your current Master may have the potential, but she's sorely lacking in training as a magus, nor does she possess the determination to see this War to its end. You and I were witness to how pitiable she is." — he took another good look at the helpless girl who he had been sent to fight for.

 _Weak… too weak._ His gazing purple eyes told.

"Surely you can see how this arrangement is the most suitable for her as well, can you not? By driving her away from this conflict, you'll be shielding her from harm as none of the other Masters will have a motive to cause it. You'll be protecting her, a merciful kindness…" — … _and that's what you and the rest of that harlot's lot are ever so fond of doing, is it not?_ She want oh-so much to add — "Even better, for her to bind you to this tome she has to make use of a Command Spell, meaning she won't be able to force another order upon you, lest she free you from your bonds."

"She is to be set aside fully then?"

"Yes. The procedure will sever your bond in its entirety, so long as this book remains undamaged. She won't be supplying you with prana either, and neither will I. Worry not though, the lord of this house has plenty other sources from which you sustain yourself out off." — in a roundabout manner, the girl would still be the one providing the Champion with prana, albeit through intermediaries, many and tiny — "So what do you say?"

Again he stalled for time, again for the same reasons as before. To retain his sense of control, the pretention that he wasn't so easily swayed by the words of another, rather than any form of pondering. In reality, he had made his mind up the second he laid his sights on the frail young woman. He could extol the immutability of the ritual as much as he desired… but to protect one's life so fragile he, and his matron, would go gladly go to whatever lengths possible to ensure its wellbeing above all else.

"Very well. I've deemed these terms acceptable." — _as if the choice was ever yours, dragonlord_.

"Glad to hear it… umm… To which of the seven classes do you belong?" — she feigned her ignorance on the subject — "I forgot to ask amidst all of this."

"I am that of the Mother, merciful and fostering." — _of course you are_.

"Strange…" — the pretension continued — "I never heard of a Servant designating itself by those terms. Usually it's something along the lines of Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Caster, Berserker or Assassin. I don't suppose you can be called any of those?"

"I care not what designation you choose for me. But if you are to insist… Rider seems the most apt title of those you enumerated." — of course it was. Hard to imagine the Mother not taking advantage of the Valyrians' greatest weapon.

"Well then, my dear Rider, here's to a prosperous partnership." — she waved the tome around, signalling the girl — "Go ahead."

"Yes…"

Without question, she made use of her second Command Spell to turn control over to the woman. The last third of her brand soon faded, while another materialized on the pages of the book, relieving her from her status as a Master for the moment. Tired by the accumulating strain of the summoning and the two consecutive commands, the girl collapsed to her knees, while her substitute busied herself with perusing the object held in hand.

"Everything is in order, it appears. Let us be gone then. We've dabbled around this gross pit for quite long enough." — a sentiment of revulsion mutually shared by the Heroic Spirit and his former Master.

Much to the latter's surprise, the Valyrian picked and carried her out of the vault in his arms, similar to how a prince would hold his rescued princess, causing no small deal of embarrassment to her. The woman simply heaved a sigh at the gushy display of chivalry. Even if the girl was his Master no longer, the Champion still felt an obligation towards his catalyst, which could become problematic in the near future. Hounded by the hisses of the cowering worms that had survived the tempest of fire, the three made their way up the steps towards ground level.

"Hey…! Where are you going!?" — _oh that's right… the boy_ — "You are just leaving me here!? Help me climb the stairs!"

"Climb them yourself. He broke your hand, not your legs. You're a grown man, are you not?"

/\

\/

The nightly silence cut by the sound of an unseen blade…

_~schwing~_

Too late had the Servant become mindful of the danger lurking behind her back. Brimming with the killing intent of its wielder, its sharp edge sang and swung, closing in towards the enemy…

_*thwack*_

…to then come to a halt, tearing not through muscle and bone but rather a section of the dojo's floor, thrust upwards through decidedly magical means.

"Gods!"

Behind a wall of wooden tiles he had raised, vaguely in the shape of a halting hand, the man ventilated a mixture of relief and exasperation. For the second time that night, his head had come perilously close to become forcibly estranged from his neck courtesy of the same invisible sword. Had she not recognized his singular brand of magecraft, it is likely the Servant clothed in the black turtleneck sweater and white jeans would've lost the topmost part of his body anyway, with or without the slapdash barrier in her way.

"Is this how you typically greet people!? Or am I the special case!?" — peeking accusingly from the side of his make-do shield, the casually dressed Heroic Spirit asked his assailant.

"Bearing in mind that you were sneaking up on me, be pleased I take no further action, Archer!" — the blonde Servant rejoined, dislodging her weapon from the floorboards he had transmuted to protect himself.

"I was not sneaking up on you, Lannie, I was purely being silent. You were asleep, and I did not wish to disturb your rest." — Archer contended.

"I was fully awaken, in contemplation of the events that transpired this night and the information you provided." — his facial gesturing suggested he found it somewhat of a poor excuse — "I'll admit that you manage to catch me off-guard… but a mistake I will not commit twofold."

"Duly noted. I'll make sure to send a raven in advance the next time I have to approach you." — her cohort threw dismissively.

"What further business do you have that made you return so soon after you and your Master departed?" — she demanded, still well on her guard.

"Nothing wicked I can assure. So… so stop looking at me like that!" — perhaps a bit too zealously for his comfort — "And would you lower that also? Having a weapon pointed at doesn't make me for much pleasant talk. It's not like the warning barrier around the terrain even sounded off…"

"If you are aware of the Barrier that surrounds the property then you could have easily disabled it. I'll ask again, and for last. Why are you here?" — the auburn-haired Servant brought the plain paper bag he had been holding onto into her field of view, offering it.

"A token of my Master's goodwill." — with some caution, the knightly woman took the shopping sack and peered at the contents inside — "She's hogging all the red to herself, quite lamentably. Methinks it would've looked better on you, Lannie."

"Clothing?" — she spotted a simple white dress shirt and a long blue skirt, plus all the other necessary articles to complement it, even a pair of leather gloves to cover up the mechanical arm.

"I did happen to mention you cannot turn to your ethereal form, so it occurred to her that you might require those considering the kid most likely doesn't have any suitable for women lying around. Of course, my Master being the way she is, wrapped her well-meaningness in a thin veil of 'not because I want to _help_ them', noooooooooooo… 'it's merely to preserve the secrecy of the Holy Grail War'." — an exacerbated sigh — "The Maiden sure picks the feisty ones."

"The gesture is appreciated, regardless of how she construes her intentions. Please tell your Master so, and thank her on my behalf for her thoughtfulness." — she relayed as to shoo him out of the dojo and leave her be.

"That's it…?" — the other Heroic Spirit wasn't in the mood to leave yet though — "Just, 'thank you' and 'goodbye'? Aren't you going to question her sudden bout of generosity? Incessantly doubt her motives for assisting you? Nay a sliver of suspicion about the sincerity of her words? You're simply going to accept her aid that straightforwardly?"

Tohsaka's was minute and founded on solid reasoning, despite her status as a probable enemy. Above all else, magi treasured their privacy, so it was to be expected. Archer's motivation, on the other hand, was much more difficult to discern. Disobeying a direct order from his Master, jumping into the fray against another Servant, holding off from attacking her when she mistook his actions as that of an enemy, and then tending to the wound he inflicted in order to save her life. It all amounted to more than plain chivalry, she thought, he had to have a veiled cause for doing so.

"I can't help but to feel insulted here. Whatever was of 'they are a treacherous kind'? For all you know, my Master may have enchanted those clothes with some corrupting spell, could she have not?"

"Did she?"

"Do you honestly expect me to ever say 'yes' to that question?" — rubbing his temple, the Servant of the Bow opted to change topics, his sights veering to the metallic luster of her prosthetic — "How's the arm doing you by the way?"

"It is… sufficing." — her disinterested three-worded description did little to indulge his sense of accomplishment for a job well done.

"Good to know." — he acquiesced through gritted teeth — "Anyhow, I better be on my way. Much as I enjoy to parlay with you, Lannie, there is still that mess from my earlier encounter with Nymeria for me to clean up. See you in the morrow."

"Until then… may you fare well." — she had trouble in fully reciprocating the goodbye, mostly as hers lacked the same eagerness behind it as his.

Waving his hand, Archer exited the ample training room, en route for the school their Masters planned to frequent come the morning, and Saber was left once more by her lonesome… a mirage gradually eroded by the gentle tides of a wintery night.

As she unstrapped her armor pieces to change into the civilian garments Tohsaka had supplied, the more and more the Servant felt the gnawing gloom devouring her. Those same pervasive pair of eyes that loomed over her as she meditated, that same icy chill biting into her skin, sinking its fangs deeper as she discarded her protective metal shell, leaving her even more exposed.

Her thoughts first drifted back to Archer, the small chance that he had decided to stick around for whatever reason. Perhaps hiding himself in the shadows to catch a glimpse while she stripped… but she was quick to discard that idea. His did not seem the type of character to engage in such shameless behavior. Yet, thinking of the other Servant did remind her of something else, something he had said earlier...

"Even _if_ someone's eavesdropping on us…" — her emerald irises widened as she paraphrased him.

At last it began to dawn onthe fake Lannister what Stark had been implying.

" _No, not if."_

"…!"— she shot back up to her feet, convinced she had heard a voice whispering in her ear.

No one was there for her to see, not an enemy for her to strike at. Yet, none of it was a product born out of paranoia, her sharp instincts were assuring. Hers was most assuredly not the only presence within the dojo. It was if the nocturne itself was…

" _I see you…"_

…watching her.

"… _False Sword…"_

"Who's there!? Show yourself!" — she pressed against the besieging abyss…

""

…and it answered in return.

From a short distance away, sitting in the rooftop of one of the neighboring estates, Stark observed with breathed relief as his would-be ally raced back to her Master's side, forgoing changing into her new attire. She did well in cursing her inability to pick up his camouflaged warning sooner. The boy could've been killed multiple times over by then, the northern man knew, all while she dallied inside that thick skull of hers.

"About bloody time, Lannie. Beginning to think I had to stay put till the sun came." — and of course, he could not allow that to happen, certainly not after all the trouble he had put himself through for the kid's sake.

Freed from his self-imposed look-out duty, it was about time he set off to do what his Master had ordered him to. Her Grace had been quite insistent that her court be all tidy up for her and her subjects' attendance.

"…as focking obtuse…" — he murmured to himself in lament, staring into the starry sky as he stood up, casting her one last forbidding glare before dissolving into Fuyuki's darken outline.

/\

\/

"Oh?"

Much to her mild surprise, Matou Sakura discovered that she was not the first to stand at the entrance to her Senpai's house that February morning. Parked by the front door of the Emiya Residence, another visitor stood in vigil, as if waiting for an opportunity to get inside. Ever of the courteous variety, the young woman squatted down to greet the unexpected company.

"Hi there. We don't usually see many of you around here." — she scratched the back of the white cat's neck much to the small creature's delectation — "You don't seem to have a collar. A stray? Poor thing, you must be hungry. Wait here a moment."

Sliding the front shoji open and excusing herself in, the schoolgirl made her way to the kitchen to find something she could feed the abandoned animal waiting outside. It was only when she took a bottle of milk from the fridge that she noticed the furtive critter hadn't really bother to wait by the doorway and had taken the opportunity to sneakily break in. Not feeling like expulsing her from the residence by force, Sakura instead opted to guide the mischievous feline towards the garden porch where she set down a bowl filled with the contents of the cardboard jug. She wondered for a moment if the brand her Senpai regularly bought would be to its liking, but the feverous motions of its tongue indicated that the pasteurized substance met her standards. Enthralled by the scene of the tabby gulping down the white liquid from the ceramic dishware, she wasn't able to heed the owner of the dwelling as he entered the room, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, Sakura… Uh?" — who nonetheless was quick to detect the four legged guest.

"Ah!" — she gasped loudly, startled by his sudden appearance — "G-G-Good morning, Senpai! I was just…!"

"A cat? Strange, there aren't many roving around the residential area. They congregate around the shopping district most of the time." — he casually commented, oblivious to his colleague's distress.

"She was outside when I arrived. I'm so sorry! I should've asked for permission before I let her inside!" — she apologized with an exaggerated bow, mortified that she had been caught red-handed stepping outside her bounds.

"Don't worry about it. Little fellow was probably starving, and I usually don't drink that much milk anyway." — the older boy was more than forgiving, not even registering her ordeal — "Better get started on breakfast though, before Taiga gets here. That woman is more of a demanding feline. Could you go ahead and prepare it? I slept in a bit and I hadn't had the chance to do my morning routine yet."

"Yes, of course, Senpai! I'll handle it, you can go on ahead!" — anxious to make it up to her senior, the purple-headed teen responded with enthusiasm.

"Thanks, Sakura."

As he headed to the dojo for his daily exercise, Sakura set on about to cook their first meal of the day. Since Taiga would arrive soon and Shirou might still take some time with his training, she opted for something she could make quickly but that wouldn't be too unsavory should it cool down. From time to time, she would diverted her attention from the food on the counter to check on the furry visitor, that looked over her by the licked-clean plate.

"I'm truly hopeless aren't I?"

A doleful whimper escaped her lips, taking pressure off her tightening chest.

"For me to think he would mind you. Even if he was allergic to cat fur, he would've let you in anyway. He would've gladly taken into his home if he felt the need to. Senpai's never been one to shy away from acting on his concerns towards others, or to be angry at them for doing the same. That small child who wanted to be a superhero, when we first met, too stubbornly compassionate… He hasn't changed since… I should've known he hadn't… yet I go and react like..."

Her body paused, her head hung low.

"…like he's a stranger still, even after all these years. I… I don't really know _who_ he is, do I? I'm too much of a coward… to utterly repulsive for him to come near. Yet, I visit his home, talk and eat beside him, and walk to school together… I keep on pretending we're close. I take advantage of his hospitality, I waste away his goodwill, just to hold onto the selfish illusion that someday we…"

She let out a breathless giggle, devoid of any warmth, that combined with the dullness of her stare and trembling mouth made it resemble more of a mute wail.

"It's only fair, I suppose. Someone as him doesn't deserve someone as me in any case. Dirtied…"

There would've been tears had she not held those back, had not shed them a hundred times over already. She did not want to burden anyone with her dead weight. Senpai, who had done so much for her ungrateful self, most of all, nor the small mammal that had to put up with her reproachable pouring out. Even if an animal could not entirely understand a human, it could still sense the negativity in the spoken words, Sakura believed. A theory seemingly corroborated when the white cat suddenly darted away from the adjoining porch into the inner hallways, as she placed the food bowls on the dinner table.

"Wait!" — naturally, she could not allow her roam the house freely, so she was quick to give chase — "Wait, wait! Come back!"

The nimble feline proved troublesome to catch due to her innate dexterity and the slippery wooden floor that limited her pursuer's speed. After a few frantic moments, the teen spotted the cat slipping through a small gap in one of the rooms' shoji and, in an rising panic to catch it, mindlessly followed her inside, sliding the tile frame open.

"Strange. I did not notice he had a cat." — not realizing that the room she was barging in happened to be Shirou's — "Ah, Shi-!"

"…"

"…"

For what it felt like several uncomfortable minutes, silence reigned supreme as both women were at a loss on how to act in response to their unforeseen face-to-face encounter. The sole noise reaching their ears was a soft purring coming from the instigator of that whole conundrum and, if the two's gazes weren't so transfixed on one another, they would easily detect the Cheshire-like satisfaction embellishing her muzzle. Surprisingly, it was Sakura that managed to break the impasse, reverting to her default manner of conduct when placed in any and all difficult circumstances.

"I'm sorry!" — three words of apology, a deep bow and making herself disappear from sight as quickly as humanely possible.

Well before the speechless blonde could oppose it, she escaped back into the hallways of the residence with the white cat in tow where, slumped against the wall, she sought to suppress the resulting surge of emotions. Tried as she might to reassert control over her motor skills, her racing heartbeat wouldn't abate, each pulsation sending a painful popping echo through her head, each adding to skyrocketing heat that sullied her skin with sweat. Many were the questions burgeoning inside the former, the most central of which being…

_Why was a Servant in his room?_

Followed closely by…

_Why was she half undressed?_

And not least of all…

_Why did she had an arm made of gold?_

It would come as striking to most that she dedicated so little thought on the fact that the Heroic Spirit could've very well killed her right there and then for happening upon her, even if by pure coincidence. Servants were to be instructed with eliminating any trespasser, she had been told. Yet, despite the mortal danger she might still be in, all she could help but to mull over was on how sad would her Senpai be were she to die, and how inconvenient it would be for him to dispose of her remains. It was that boy that caused her the greatest deal of distress, when arriving at the invariable conclusion that…

_Senpai's a Master too…_

…and that he was going to fight in the coming War. Fight… put his life on the line… and most likely be killed as a result. Possibly by the very Servant she herself had summoned a couple of days ago, that she then handed control over to that woman, a consummate professional. Her imagination proved fertile in envisioning lurid imagery of the boy's demise, of her hands being stained with his blood, and each dragged her ego further into the cold reaches of insanity. Sakura could not apprise the precise amount of time she had spent alone delving into such scenarios, but she eventually found herself lumbering back into the kitchen.

"Ha! There you are! Good morning, Sakura!" — Taiga greeted in her usual vociferously cheery self.

"…good morning, Sensei…" — though it toned down a bit upon spotting her student's downcast expression.

"Is everything alright? You're not looking so good." — but was as quick to readopt her rascally attitude — "Did Shirou do something? I swear that boy is so insensitive when it comes a young maiden's heart…"

"Please don't go and make accusations like that, Taiga-sensei. Especially when I'm right here." — the accused protested from behind the counter.

"It doesn't make it any less true, Shirou." — the prosecution contested.

"No… He did nothing of the sort." — she exonerated him of any blame — "I just had to use the bathroom. I must've spaced out."

"Thinking of what I wonder?" — the grown woman (in age only) slyly intoned, looking back and forth between her two students.

"Are you sure you're not sick?" — though the boy didn't pick up what she was hinting at so blatantly.

"…yes. Don't worry yourself, Senpai." — he had much bigger troubles to deal with than her selfish feelings — "I'll be fine."

"But…" — his secret would be safe with her.

"Shirou, if a woman says she'll be fine, you're not suppose to press the issue further, you're suppose to try to make her feel better." — she handed over her empty bowl — "Speaking of which…"

"That's your third serving." — he pointed out.

"I'm an adult Shirou, I _require_ the extra energy. Particularly when I've to spend the day teaching English to hormone-driven teenagers such as yourselves. It's a really stressful profession. _'Now be a dear and go bring me more food.'_ " — she solicited in the foreign tongue, with an admittedly unusual low-key accent for a Japanese.

"If you going to eat beyond your needs, at least you should make the effort of serving the food yourself. This creates bad habits." — the boy expressed his disapproval at her embodiment of two cardinal sins.

"Feed! Me! More! Feed! Me! More!" — ignoring his protest, she began to rhythmically bang the table with her fist till he relented.

In sharp contrast with the energetic woman's wanton satiation of her hunger, Sakura struggled to finish her meal, her appetite having vanished along with the ignorance of her Senpai's involvement in the Grail War. She nonetheless tried her best to ingest the food she had made, if nothing so as none the present would worry themselves about her further, with the cat remaining firmly nestled on her lap. As Taiga gulped down the contents of her plate for the third (and then a fourth) time that morning, the diffident teenager entertained herself by scratching the creature's fuzzy head. Gawking at the scene, her teacher let out a giggle with a mouth full of rice.

"Sensei?"

"Oh nevermind me, Sakura. It's just… stroking your furry friend while it sits on your lap like that… the whole picture… What do you say, Shirou?" — she poked him with her elbow for his opinion — "She kinda looks like some sinister supervillain, doesn't she?"

The resident superhero was polite enough not to indulge his teacher's shenanigans.

/\

\/

"Must you insist on following me?" — after an entire morning keeping that question to herself, Saber finally went on about addressing her dutiful shadow — "Should you not be by your Master's side?"

"Shouldn't you?" — Archer, now seated side by side on the park bench, bounced back.

"You know well enough I cannot while he remains at school. It's the very reason why I made a protest of his stubborn decision." — she reminded him.

"You could enroll yourself in that diminutive Citadel he and my Master attend. You strike one as having its novices' age. I'm sure you could blend in with ease, Lannie." — facet wise, she could indeed pass off as a teenager. Her social skills on the other hand…

"Is not that simple. I cannot merely walk in and present myself as a new student. With no proper identity in this present time, it is impossible for the both of us to participate in any sanctioned activity such as that. To say nothing of the fact that, as Heroic Spirits, we are to remain _out of sight_ at every given opportunity." — her polite way to declare: _Take a hint, you fool_ , _begone!_

"Aye, I see. And we do both stick out from the natives like… how do they say it around these parts?" — like a rather conspicuous sore thumb, judging by the curious stares the duo had elicited from every passerby they came across — "It's best we foreigners band together all the same. It's basic human nature."

"Servants such as ourselves have transcended beyond such earthly tendencies." — she noted.

"Fine then..." — failing so far to endear her to his company, he tried another avenue of thought — "Let us say that, for mere argument's sake, my Master today plans to force yours to relinquish control over you. As in, 'abscind your contract this instant or I'll kill you where you stand'. And your Master, being the willful sod he is, answers 'I won't do that'. Were this scenario to transpire, do you really want me next to my Master while you remain far removed from yours?"

"So Tohsaka is willing to go to such lengths."

"She was quite vocal in articulating her frustration that she didn't manage to summon a Saber… to warm her bed if I recall correctly. Given her adamancy towards the issue, I'm guessing she must've taken a liking to you. For all her faults, she has good taste in women." — his indirect remark produced the intended reaction he sought to goad her into. Red-faced outrage.

"Must you interpret your Master's wishes in that light?" — he laughed, remembering the less contained, but no less teeth-grinding, effect it had on the magus.

"Oh, you two would go along nicely." — Archer ribbed — "Hopefully that Septon from yesterday can help us reach a resolution. One that doesn't revolve causing aggravated harm to the kid, so you and I won't have to come to blows because of it."

"Why do you covet the notion of the two of us becoming allies so stoutly? Your Master wants to improve her odds at victory, that I can understand, but your inclination seems to extend beyond any sound strategic reasoning. And even if that should come to be, it is likely we'll have to engage in battle the same later on. Per the rules of the ritual, only one Servant can remain at the end." — Saber ruminated, forgetting she was discussing the matter with a Champion, not a Servant.

"I wouldn't be able to fell you, Lannie." — Archer took time to pick the words carefully, something she did not let slip through the cracks — "Not that my Master would accept such outcome… so I guess I want to avoid disappointing her further."

"That's it? Purely out of a sense of self-perseverance?" — having witnessed firsthand Archer's potentially lethal brand of Transmutation, his rationalization naturally struck the blonde Servant as nothing short of peculiar.

_Why did he deem so surely that she held the advantage? And why would he mend her wounds if he believed it so to begin with? Does he not desire victory?_

Questions that crossed her mind. Yet, she failed to grasp the true connotations behind his words, she failed to ask herself the most important question…

 _Why can't you bring_ _yourself to kill her?_

The Hall was quiet…

_Why not… Stark?_

None spoke up…

"A modest inkling of curiosity as well, I admit. Still have to figure out how you play into this Trial, don't we? Be easier if we aren't trying to kill each other." — Archer produced a neatly tied pouch of cloth in front of his companion — "Lunch…?"

"You brought food?" — a perplexed Saber asked while he unwrapped the bag's knot.

"Why wouldn't I? People usually eat around time the sun's at its highest. Be rude of me if I hadn't bring any for you too." — he extended an unwrapped sandwich and an open thermo.

Although wanting at first to turn it down out of caution and to maintain her objectivity, the brisk smell of lightly charred meat, freshly baked bread and aromatic mead proved a deadly combo when pitted against her voracious stomach. More than she would care to admit, Archer's array of thaumaturgical techniques translated well into the culinary arts, as she began devouring his creations with a gusto bordering on an uncouth frenzy. For his part, the male Champion was merely happy Saber ended up accepting the food so promptly, without presuming he had poisoned it or anything of the sort.

"Shirou said they would be finished shortly after midday." — once finished, both stood up, storing away the sack with the empty flasks — "Best we head to the Academy."

And cue…

"Excuse me." — both Heroic Spirits turned around to find a thirty something year old woman approaching them — "I'm sorry to pry, but I couldn't help but to overhear you and your friend are heading towards 'the Academy'. Is it Homurahara Academy by any chance?"

"Yes." — the female Servant responded, in all her chivalric courtesy — "Do you require directions to the Academy, Madam?"

"My, so polite. Yes, I'm in need of heading there myself. If you two are going there as well… would you mind if I tag along? Since we share the same destination, it would be faster than to hassle you for worded guidance… and it's best us foreigners band together afterall." — the two shared a sideways glance, wondering what else had the stranger with snow white skin and short-cut ebony hair could've heard.

"I can't see a reason why not…" — with Archer busy scrutinizing her, it was Saber who again acceded to the woman's request.

"Lumi Valkoinen." — she introduced herself — "A pleasure."

"As well, Lady Valkoinen." — ever the more chivalric of the two, the female Servant gave a slight bow in respect, while her scruffy hound merely gave a consenting hum.

"Please then, lead the way." — she gestured for the two to take point — "Classes are almost over for the day and I'm guessing we all have appointments to keep."

The three started the rather lengthy journey back towards Homurahara, on the other side of town, exiting the park the two Heroic Spirits had ended up in after a morrow's worth of dogging by her faithful pup. Saber had hoped that by straying as far away as possible from the school, and by association his Master, Archer's sense of duty would ultimately compel him to abandon his persistent tailing and return to Tohsaka's side, leaving her be. A forlorn expectation in retrospect much to her consternation, but her belly's satisfied contentment.

The city of Fuyuki was bustling with human activity, its denizens making the most of a relatively warm weekend for early February. They crossed the big bridge over the Mion to Miyama Town, through its newer residential blocks, and finally the shopping district, where most of the activity at that hour was concentrated within its several restaurants' and cafes' terraces. For the majority of the trek, the duo of chained heroes always kept their pace more than a few steps ahead of the woman tailing them, who seemed more engrossed with taking in the passing scenery than her escorts.

"Something's off with that woman." — predictably, both had their share of suspicion regarding Lumi, seeing she had managed to remain undetected until she pronounced herself.

"I am aware of it, yes." — Saber informed back with a hush — "Is she wise to what we are? Mistakes us for Masters, mayhap?"

"And her? What would you bet at, Lannie? Master? Working for one?" — Stark took a peek behind his shoulder — "Or the simple traveler she ostensibly appears to be?"

"Another Servant?" — she hypothesized — "Whoever passes for your land's version of Assassin? If she were to had a Skill akin Presence Concealment…"

"…it would explain why we cannot sense her, true. Stranger's have always been tricky bastards." — the weight of his deliberation bore deeper furrows in his brow — "And in this reality? I don't have a clue on how that cloaked raver is even going to play at."

"What do you mean by that?" — that the question pertaining to the deceptive Heroic Spirit was cause for such head-scratching, evoked a sense of warding inquisitiveness in her.

"Take a while to explain it to someone unfamiliar with the dealings of where I come from, the House of Black and White in particular, but in essence a Stranger's chosen Master…" — _T_ _hat's far enough I think..._

"My… my… you two are having quite the enthralling conversation over there. Keeping such secrets from me." — _…_ w _ouldn't want to spoil the whole thing just yet._

"I beg for your pardon. Neither wanted to appear to be talking behind your back." — in spite of their mutual wariness, the petite knight nonetheless presented her apology for their non-deferent conduct.

"Oh, I know, I know. You can't talk behind my back if you are standing in front me, can you? But, joking aside, I understand your reservations. I'm just an unfamiliar person to you, depending on the kindness of two individuals I just met on the street. Although, I must say… it's been quite an eye-opening experience." — the woman stopped dead in her tracks.

"…?" — which made the two heroes halt also, turning around to see the shift in Lumi's posture.

"To think that two Servants could act so friendly to one another…" — her head tilting to the side, her face twisting itself into a vicious grin — "A pity knowing how it all has to end for any of us to attain the prize."

"Sneaky witch…" — it was Stark who finally got to direct a word or two at her, gelid as the atmosphere that was quick to settled around them.

"Such coldness wounds me… but yes, your first guess was indeed correct, Servant." — _whose, though?_ To leave one's foes in the dark with carefully phrased truths proved to be an endless source of childlike ecstasy for the fake Master.

"So are we to presume…?"

"… that my Servant is by my side? Of course. I would be left most vulnerable if not. Bad tidings are sure to come to a Master left by _his_ or _her_ lonesome in the middle of a War. Students can be so carefree… so irresponsible…" — though the two masked it well, she still could see them cursing under their breath, already psyched up for a showdown — "… all in its due time, logically. There's no need to rush through things heedlessly, with so many outsiders watching on…"

Center stage in the middle of a busy commercial street, the conversation between the three prominent foreigners became the natural focus of attention for most bystanders. The trio was subjected to the long prying gazes of the world that surrounded them, of the blissfully unaware, purposefully lagging their steps to steal another glance, another word on what they were saying. With the Academy already within viewing distance, Saber and Archer had little choice but to play along as Lumi continued onwards to their destination. While Stark took the first opportunity to turn ethereal and rush ahead to warn his Master, the irregular kept following the other participant closely from behind, her invisible sword drawn and ready for any eventuality. It was an absolute delish then to rob the gallant knight of her steadfast resolve. To see her torn, juggling between her duties towards her Master's protection and in keeping the secrecy of their relation, as she saw the woman merrily dashing towards the Academy's gate where he was exiting through at that precise moment. To her relief, however, it soon became clear that the red-headed teen wasn't really who the enemy was interested in, but rather the fellow student he was talking to.

"Ah! Shinjiiiiiiiii!" — she called out, interrupting the boy's chat with his classmate.

"You…" — as was to be expected, the heir presumptive to the Matou bloodline looked none too pleased by her sudden appearance — "What are you doing here!?"

"That's so mean of you, talking to me in that tone." — making it all the more enjoyable to drag a worm like him through the mud he belonged in — "And after having to cross the entire city just so I could walk you home no less."

"I don't need to be walked home, woman. I'm not a kid anymore, I'm a grown man." — more rope for the hangman's noose.

"Really? I never knew a grown man could start bawling the way you did, when you got yourself injured a few days back. You should've seen him after he crashed against one of the basement's pillars. Little Shinji can be a teensy bit too absentminded every now and again." — Lumi revealed, making sure to be in full hearing range of several of their female classmates, who left the scene giggling like hyenas.

"Didn't you say you got injured during practice?" — the other teenager raised an eyebrow, pointing at the white cast covering the lower section of his colleague's arm.

"Oopsy me. Seems I let a small secret slip by." — she played innocent, covering her lips with the tip of her fingers — "Well, Shinji? Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"…whatever." — he snarled — "This here is Emiya Shirou."

"Emiya Shirou? I've been hearing that name a lot." — when the girl began to moan it, losing control of her body. About the only time she would call him by name, instead of that insufferable honorific — "I'm Lumi Valkoinen, and I just recently arrived in Fuyuki. It's a pleasure."

"It's all mine." — they exchanged a handshake — "Are you a relative of Shinji's?"

"Well… I knew both his father and grandfather. You could say I was almost his mother, if you could believe it." — that statement caused some visible puzzlement to Emiya, as the woman in front of him looked about the same age as the real Lumi Valkoinen when she died almost twenty years ago.

"She's a guest of my old man." — Shinji cut her off, before she could torpedo his social life further — "She'll be staying a few days at my house. Speaking of which… we should be heading there now. I'm sure my grandfather wishes to discuss some matter or another with you."

"It's rather unbecoming of you to push people around like that, Shinji." — she scolded, with the same patronizing demeanor a parent would employ when disciplining her six year old — "Since I'm staying at your home, I thought I could get to know more about the people you hang around with."

"If the two of you want to prattle on some more, then he can come over to my place. Or vice versa, preferably. Let's go already." — _You just keep asking for it._

"My, my, such a rush. Are you that embarrassed of my presence? You hurt me." — she continued to artfully play both the victim to his coarseness and aggressor to its ego, doing the latter by playfully pinching his cheek — "But he's so cute when he behaves tough, isn't he?"

"Let go of me, you goddamn woman! Argh!" — tail between his legs, the sniveling brat stormed off to escape the erupting chorus of laughter.

"Oh dear, seems I gone and made him cranky. In any case, I should be off too. See you around, Emiya. I'm certain we'll get to see each other again." — both waved goodbye at each other, the high-schooler's expression locked in an awkward smile after having to witness his friend's peculiar household drama. Or was it a comedy?

He did not get to ponder for long, as Tohsaka suddenly materialized behind him and unceremoniously dragged him away by the collar to, quote unquote, 'discuss some pressing concerns between us in private'. Needless to say, the whole picture ignited a maelstrom of chatter between the most gossip-addict members of the Academy. _Homurahara's Queen and Brownie: Together!? Shocking!_

"What the hell was all that for anyway!?" — the boy at least had the common sense to curb his temperament until they were sufficiently secluded from any intrusive ears — "Why did you have to come and humiliate me like that!?"

"I'm inclined to ask the same question." — in his ethereal form, the Valyrian expressed his own skepticism — "Was there a point as to reveal yourself so brazenly to an opponent?"

"Making sure they know who the Master fighting on behalf of the Matou family is. Part of the reason Mr. Zouken enlisted my aid was to keep his legacy from harm's way." —which meant the girl, first and foremost — "Now that I've exposed myself to them, the other Masters' target will be me, rather than you or your sister. And besides, boy…"

An eerie smirk, the sideway glance of a hungry beast… preying on a tiny insect, the one trait he had inherited from his grandfather. And how did the young cockroach fidget…

"…I'm a cat who enjoys toying with its mouse."

/\

\/

A thousand pairs of eyes and ears…

A thousand pairs of feet and wings…

A thousand pairs of melding consciences…

A creature, singular yet fractured, looked over the city of Fuyuki in its entirety. From the clearest sky overhead, to the abject sewers underneath, an invisible field of battle under its ever constant gaze. Many were the souls that called it home, that walked the streets still, oblivious to the watcher in plain sight, not cowering before the day's fall as their forbearers once had.

For the night was dark… but just not enough.

Above, a full moon that shone in all its ashen splendor, a false sun. Below, an expanse of infinitesimal dots emitting a sickly orange radiance, a sea of stars all the falser. Trapped within a cage of light, those that would seek shelter from its fated arrival now sauntered through it as conquerors, basking in their triumph over an ancient, mentally inborn foe. Yet, it knew better. How fragile their glass pen truly was, how little effort a wolf would require to shatter it and have the impertinent lambs devoured.

Wide as its web of awareness was, as many were those caught under its scrutiny, the fragmented pieces of the beast's psyche all coalesced towards a particular troupe of four. Under devoted observation since leaving Homurahara Academy for the Church on the Hill, they now descended the road that led into the latter, several hours later as the dusk descended in full.

"Tohsaka, please wait up!" — the boy tried to appeal to the steaming locomotive that was the female magus, chugging away through the poorly lit streets at a brisk pace — "Shouldn't we discuss this further?"

"Oh!? Is there more for us to converse on!? I wasn't aware!" — she whistled with shrill dismissal, making sure to keep the striding distance between herself and the source of her burning annoyance at a satisfactory value.

"Tohsaka…"

"No! Don't 'Tohsaka' me!" — the girl came to a screeching stop, the red-headed teen's chest colliding with her accusatory finger — "I believe I made myself clear already! You wish to participate in the War so badly!? Then I'll be happy to oblige you in full, Emiya! I'm done helping you! After this night, consider us no longer allies… and don't think for a second that I'll go soft on you because of our short-lived cooperation. Should we met from now onwards, you and your Servant best be prepared."

"That's a bit rash, don't you think Master? Forsaking an eager ally at a spur-of-the-moment swing of your conflicting emotions methinks is unsound." — Archer took a shot at cracking Tohsaka's thick wall of obstinacy — "And he seems the sworn-shield type fellow that would be willing to soak up an arrow or two for your sake. Right, kid?"

"If it had to come that…" — he murmured in response to the Heroic Spirit hunch.

"You be quiet! I'm this close…" — but she would be having none of it, her thumb and index pinched as to demonstrate the length of her shortening fuse — "… _this_ close to use one of my Command Spells to make sure that infernal trap of yours remains shut on a permanent basis."

"I believe this conclusion to be for the best. All alliances between Masters are built on convenience, to be cast aside the moment their value expires, often by treachery. Such is the nature of the Holy Grail War, where only one of the seven magi can ultimately be triumphant. You were too hasty in putting your faith unto Tohsaka, Shirou. I cannot foresee an outcome where your partnership would've concluded favorably for you." — Saber weighed in as well.

"God in Heaven! The fact that most levelheaded of you lot is _your_ Servant, just makes this whole deal all the more aggravating! I should've been the one to summon Saber, as I deserved after all those hours of hard work…" — Tohsaka mourned — "…and you could've kept the asinine clown of a Philistine I got instead. Idiots such as you two are best kept in each other's company. Your combined stupidity can act like a counterfire to one another, preventing any from burning down the entire forest."

"If we are to be exact, Master, Lannie cannot be the Saber for this Trial. That would be whoever the Father sent as his representative's Champion, in all likelihood." — her Heroic Spirit repeated his previously stated assumption, making a point to ignore her comments (not that he would even know what a Philistine was) — "There's also eight sorcerers involved in the conflict now, even if the kid barely qualifies as one."

"That's another layer of migraines to add to the mounting heap. The fact that she's outside the bounds of a normal Grail War, and that peculiar taxonomy about a Trial of Seven I keep on hearing about." — nails clawed her scalp exasperatedly — "Damn that Kirei! Making us wait an entire afternoon… and for what!? Mere frivolous conjecture!? Worse, he actually managed to _convince_ you to go through with your foolhardy plan to compete in the War! That accursed fake priest!"

"I made my own decision, Tohsaka. I'm sorry, but I cannot back down on this. I have to fight too. If the great fire from ten years ago was caused by the misuse of the Grail, I… I cannot allow the possibility that something similar might occur once more. To let it fall into the hands of someone who'd use it purely to satisfy their own selfish desires." — staunch in his resolve, he asserted his colleague and himself of the path he had chosen to trek.

"Mine for instance? Is that what you are implying?" — the brunette beamed wilily —"Or what makes you so certain my intentions for the Grail are pure and noble? That I wouldn't employ its power for any nefarious purposes?"

"You'd never do something like that." — he mimicked her gesture, albeit in an affable and genuine manner.

"I might just surprise you…" — the red-jacketed sorceress kept up with the pretense of wickedness, hoping to throw his goody-two shoes persona off balance.

"That you can. Less than a day ago, I didn't even know you were a magus, let alone one belonging to an ancient lineage. Yet that does not change the fact that you're still good person at heart, Tohsaka. Perhaps I do not know the whole you, but of that aspect I'm sure." — failing miserably.

"I'm a good person, you say… would you be willing to bet your life on that hunch?"

"I'm alive in large part because of you ignored the rules and ordered Archer to save me… so it's a wager I feel confident I've already won."

The back and forth between the two Master thus came to an awkward intermission, as Tohsaka struggled to formulate an acceptable counter to his statement. Irritation grew as no suitable words ever came, an admitted rare occasion for her. Their Heroic Spirits, meanwhile, looked on at the two's interaction with a mixture of perplexity and unease, Archer's lips muttering something along the lines of 'Gods, consummate it and be done with already…'

"…you're impossible…" — she eventually mumbled, an admission of defeat.

Whatever was going to be said next, it was the echoes of childlike rapture that brought their thematic conversation to its swift conclusion, and captured the attention of those involved.

"I found you!"

Turning to the side, atop the sloped grounds adjacent to the foreigners cemetery, they saw a white-haired small girl, donning purple winter garments, observing them keenly with bright ruby eyes.

"I finally found you!" — she once more declared with giddying joy.

"Einzbern!" — both women immediately recognized, though only the magus spoke up.

"Einzbern?" — both men wondered in response, though again only the magus asked.

"Hers is one of the families that established the Grail War, like mine. Meaning, she is definitely another Master. Didn't think I would face an Einzbern so soon…" — Tohsaka explained, simultaneously adopting a more combative stance — "…but I guess it spares me the trouble of going around searching. Archer!"

"You misunderstood. It's not you I want, my dear Rin. It's him." — she instead pointed at the boy, much to everyone's confusion — "I want you, Emiya Shirou. The dirty thief."

"Me?" — his Servant did the same as the Champion, placing herself in front of him to shield her Master — "Wait… who are you!? Why do you want…!?"

"No need to worry yourself with that for the moment. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other, and there's so much for you and I to talk about. You'll be judged and punished for everything you've stolen. Then, perhaps I'll keep you as my puppet, so you can atone for your guilt. Obviously, that fake Champion you summoned is not going to permit that… so I'll have mine eliminate her first." — the pronouncement of her intent came off as jarring owing to her outward innocence, both physical and vocal.

"Not a chance, Einzbern." — the other scion of the founding triumvirate interjected — "Do you think I'll just let you two duke it out while I sit back and watch?"

"Tohsaka…?"

"Don't take it the wrong way, Emiya. I said I was your ally till the end of the night, and I intend to keep my word. I do have my pride as head of the Tohsaka family." — she felt the need to clarify, clinging to a self-serving rationale — "Besides, if we work together, it'll be easier to dispatch her."

"Dispatch her!? What are you saying!? We can't kill her! She just a child!" — mistaken as he was in relate to her youth, the pout she made in response to his remark did little to prove him wrong.

"Are you deaf or an imbecile!? That 'child' just described how she plans to enslave you, or worst, kill you! Not to mention, she's a Master! She made the conscious decision to participate in this War… and now so have you!" — she cast his own resolution back at him — "What did you think it was going to be like!? This is a battle to the death, kill or be killed!"

"But…" — making it dawn on him that, like any selfless hero worth its praise, his grave had been dug out of his own volition.

"Truth be told, I was only planning to have to deal with Shirou tonight…" — the petite homunculus butted in, itching to regain the limelight — "…but if you are so desirous for a fight, then I'll make the most of it and take you down also, Rin."

"Two-on-one." — Tohsaka noted the odds — "Confident are we, Einzbern?"

"Of course I am. Afterall…" — she threw her arms in the air, exhilarated — "By the grace of the Seven, I, Illyasviel von Einzbern, has been granted the strongest of the beckoned Champions!"

She started to chant.

" _~For those who stand before their foe,~_ "

A Heaven's hymn to announce the dramatic entrance of its Heroic Spirit.

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

" _~that soon after would lay them low,~_ "

On prompt, heavy metallic footsteps started to sound off behind the pint-sized magus.

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

" _~charging with no fear ever to show,~_ "

And a giant of a man came into view, emerging from the opposite side of the incline.

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

" _~ and defeat never for them to know.~_ "

While Tohsaka, Emiya and Saber quietly tensed up in anticipation for the confrontation that was to come, Archer was far less composed, having all sorts of expletives inscribed over his twitching facial expression in rapid succession.

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

"Step forth! My Warrior!"

The Champion had a bulky frame, easily over two meters tall, clad in immense plated armor that covered his entire body save for a frontal portion of his face, nonetheless obscured by the helm.

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

"Undaunted…!"

Which was also the most salient aspect of his figure, being adorned with a massive pair of antlers, a match for the crowned black stag sown into his yellow tabard.

_*thump*_

_*thump*_

"…and victorious!"

He stopped behind the Einzbern girl, whose head barely stood taller than his knee,…

_*crash*_

…striking the asphalt with the point of his colossal warhammer's shaft, to accentuate the finality of her proclamation.

Then he laughed…

_*HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_ _HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA*_

…the kind of boisterous dry cackle that made one wish it would lose its hearing after a bit.

The dark beast continued to observe the scene unfolding with excitement and, in the rooftop of one of the many skyscrapers of Shinto, a cloaked shade, its nexus, merrily munched away at the large bucket of popcorn it held near, an acquired taste. The sole source of disappointment was that it had forgot to bring more as, at rhythm the sweet and salty snacks were being devoured, they wouldn't last for the totality of the coming spectacle.

Moreso as, unbeknownst to them, three more Champions were fast approaching the arena…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep… you heard the lovecraftian entity right. Three new Champions incoming for the next chapter as well. Ain't I generous? Damn, it's been four months since I last posted a new chapter. Doesn't help I keep making these chapters bigger than the previous. But again, real life matters must take a priority. Hopefully, none of you thought I was dead.
> 
> For those of you who might be interested in a time frame for these events. Archer's summoning took place in the night of 5th (Thursday) to the 6th (Friday) of February 2004, Saber's in the following (6th to the 7th), and now we're currently in the 7th to the 8th.
> 
> If by any chance you need a reference for the Warrior's laughter, I urge to go listen to some clips of Mark Addy doing justice to the character. And, while you're at it, play Don't Die with a Clean Sword, from the OST, for added atmosphere when Ilya is introducing him. Also, brownie points for anyone who can guess what the two kanji symbols in not-Rider's 'picture' stand for, that cross-my-fingers hopefully didn't came out to horrid (same goes for Zouken's Russian).
> 
> Finally, as always, leave a comment if you are enjoying the story so far, or PM me if have any questions you would like to ask.


	6. Illyasviel

Illya was in pain…

Her flesh was aching and frozen stiff, to a degree that she could barely move. The strain put on her magic circuits too much to bear, excruciating cramps assaulting the petite homunculus' fragile physique and hammering her head with agonizing migraines. Each breathing motion, each blink, each heartbeat, each of the increasingly recurring muscle spasms, meant another cutting shiver coursing through her withering body. Her strength was lacking, even to curl herself up as a shield from the elements.

Illya was cold…

Her tender pale skin was a mosaic of tiny flesh bumps from which her hairs, white as the snow that covered the ground, shot upwards, fully erect. The petite homunculus had been wondering the wasteyards of Castle Einzbern for days on end now, the very first time she had been allowed to leave the family stronghold since her conception. She had persisted through the unrelenting wilderness, fending off the numerous beasts, natural and artificial, that roamed through the dark woods. Yet, in the end, despite everything…

Illya was scared…

But a frighten child, and nothing more. Much as she loaded to think of herself as such, the instilled terror she felt at that moment, greater than the sum of those experienced her entire life, shattered any and all pretenses of maturity, dragging her mind back to its infant stages. A dread overriding all other afflictions, as she faced the eminent end of her existence… yet another failure of her family.

Before being unceremoniously dumped in the wastes, like many dissatisfactory experiments that came before, Old Man Acht had given her a single instruction:

" _Summon a Servant, the strongest of them all, so we may claim what is our long-denied birthright."_

She was not allowed to return until such task had been completed, and the Einzbern patriarch had deemed her worthy of becoming the family's Master for the War that was to come. A rare catalyst had been given to her, her sole possession aside from the plain ragged dress she wore. A slab of stone excavated from an ancient temple in Greece, dating back to the Age of Gods, from which she would summon the great hero of myth, Heracles.

Mindful of her duties, the young magus had strived to accomplish what was demanded of her, surviving the many trials that awaited her on the outside. Then, cornered by the abominations her kin had released upon the blighted forest, through pure desperation, she had managed to summon a Heroic Spirit. And despite her panicked state, she had the equanimity to add two extra lines to the incantation:

 _Doch, du dient mit deinen Augen in Chaos getrübt_ _._ _  
_ _Du, in den Käfig des Wahnsinns gebunden. Ich bin es, der diese Ketten befehlen_ _._

…so that she would have Berserker, the most powerful of the seven Servant classes. A mad warrior that could only fight for victory's sake, never for another goal, for her and her alone. In one particular regard, she had succeeded spectacularly.

"-T-A-R-"

The warrior that materialized out of the explosion of red smoke was indeed madden, long deprived of his sanity. The manner in which he dispatched the creatures that had been hounding her, amidst guttural howls, was not that of a mentally sound individual. However, the distinctively medieval armor he wore was a visible indication that he was not Heracles. Worse still, after swiftly dispatching the beasts…

"-G-A-"

…he set his sights on the nearest target, her. Illya's hold on the Servant's leash proved too tenuous for her to reign him in, her body too weary due to the hardship it endured and having conducted a summoning so out of schedule. In vain, she tried to muster the energy to use one of the Command Spells to bind him, but there was not enough of it for her to gather.

"-R-Y-E-N-"

Huddled against a dead husk of a tree, there was none for her to run or hide either, no possible avenue of escape. From such being, she could never hope to, no more than she could break away from the bond that tied them together, the same that brought her no small degree of physical suffering with each and every one of his motions. A mere fifty meter clearing separated Master and Servant, the latter's gaze constantly fixed on the former, even while he slaughtered the creatures that surrounded both.

"-T-A-R-G-A-R-Y-E-N-"

Howling that foreign word over and over again. _Targaryen_. A malediction, a mantra of hatred… being directed entirely at her, Illya soon realized. She hadn't been singled out by process of elimination, the beasts had been but nuisances he got rid of first to he could deal with her at his leisure, to hunt down his chosen game undisturbed. Though perhaps 'to butcher' was the more apt description of what coming. A woebegone little girl, cold and alone, paralyzed in both body and mind…

"-T-A-R-G-A-R-Y-E-N-"

…that even so still found the strength to rise up. Biting against the sting of countless needles, she managed to get back to her feet, out of sheer defiance. If she was to die there, but another failure in her family's annals, to never have her revenge for the father that was stolen from her, the Holy Grail's vessel was determined to not go down cowering like some animal. The young woman had her pride and, with her last sliver of vigor, she would stand tall, she would tame the feral Servant… or perish in the attempt, most likely.

"-T-A-R-G-A-R-Y-E-N-"

"O-O-Obey me, y-you…"

He snarled.

"…you miserable…"

"T-A-R-G-A-R-Y-E-N-"

He roared.

"…rabid mutt of a Hero…"

He charged at her.

"…for Illyasviel von Einzbern, your Master, commands you to-!"

He stopped.

"Uh?"

He simply… stopped. As if he had suddenly turned into a statue mid movement.

_Why… why did he stop?_

"von…?" — the Heroic Spirit muttered — "Einzbern…?" — confused by her name, of all things.

"Y-Yes, I am Illyasviel von Einzbern, your Master… and you will do as I comma-!" — the Servant cut her off by closing in the short expanse left between the two in a blink of an eye, startling her.

Despite this, it was clear that the killing intent in him had all but evaporated. He got on one knee, not to give an oath of loyalty, but rather so he could take a closer look at the much smaller homunculus, to study her features. Though his face was blacken by the antlered helm he wore, his face was close enough that Illya noticed him squinting.

 _*HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_ _HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_ _AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH_ _AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH_   _*_

And close enough that droplets of spit rained down on her face when he burst out laughing all of a sudden.

 _Why is he laughing!?_ Decidedly the single most annoying sound Illya had ever the displeasure of hearing.

"Seven Hells! You should've speak up sooner, girl! Almost went and kill you by mistake! Stupid way for my Master to die that would've been!" — he chuckled some more.

_Or talking for that matter!? Berserker shouldn't talk!_

"Ah, but I am terribly sorry for the confusion." — the rogue Heroic Spirit apologized, if one could call a devil-may-care dismissal of the events an adequate admission of guilt.

_Sorry!? He's sorry!? He nearly kills me, and can only say 'sorry'!?_

"You're awfully quiet for a kid your age. Is something the matter?" — the cur that was her Servant had the utter nerve to ask after what he made her go through.

"Yes!" — she yelled as loud as she could, to properly stress her indignation at his so-called misunderstanding — "There is something the matter, you crazed animal! You attacked me!"

"And I've expressed amends, as is customary. What more can you wish of me? Seven have mercy, why are women always so raring to hold a grudge against a man's honest misdeed?" — the vulgar clod mouthed off.

"This isn't holding a grudge, and to nearly murder your own Master is not an 'honest misdeed', you dumb beast! You cannot merely ask for forgiveness and brush any of this aside afterwards!" — Illya's outward wrath proved only effective in taking her mind off the pain she was enduring, not getting the point across to other side.

"Why not?" — the armor-clad ogre shrugged — "What else could be accomplished by you being angry at me?"

"Do you think I can afford to overlook this!? How do I know I can rely on a Servant that goes and attacks his Master like that!?"

"So... you want me to kneel and swear allegiance then?"

"No! I want Berserker! I want Heracles!" — Illya pointed at him — "You are neither of them!"

"That I am not." — the brute readily admitted — "What I am is devoid of fear, indomitable in my desire to win. For I am That of the Warrior, undaunted and victorious!"

"Who?" — as to rub more salt in the proverbial wound, the gauche oaf now spewed some nonsense in full bombastic fashion — "Who's Warrior?"

"Who else! The mightiest of the Seven! To whom those that style themselves with his name pray for strength in their arms, for hearts shielded from the stain of cowardice. He, who is insurmountable, the adamantine sword that cuts down all enemies. Whose Champions' are the most fearsome, the most dominant in any and all battlefields! _~For those who stand before their foe, that soon after would lay them low, charging with no fear ever to show, and defeat for them to know.~_ So it is inscribed at his Heaven's gate, for those who ascend to bear witness." — the mad(dening) Servant rambled on, part of it in song even.

"Are you done?" — just him using his vocal chords was excruciating to her, in more ways than one — "I believe I had my fill of inane ravings."

"Inane, you say!" — the lout scoffed — "Who are you, to have never heard of the Seven!? Some hermit woods' witch!?"

"No, I'm a magus of the von Einzbern family... and your Master, in case you forgot!" — she snapped to jog his memory, and to watch his tone.

"I have not... I merely know not why my Master isn't familiar with the Seven, nor who these von Einzberns are. Hence my question."

"How do you not know!? My family created the Holy Grail War!" — and had made sure that the Servants would have some degree of acquaintance with the time period they were summoned in, that specific detail in particular.

"Is that what you sorcerers call the Trial of Seven around these days?" — which was, evidently, not the case for hers — "And you're saying that you're a descendant from the one of the original seven Andal diviners?"

"Yes. No... I mean..." — Illya was almost beginning to wish he was an incoherent fiend still — "The Einzbern's, the Tohsaka's and the Makiri's created the Holy Grail War, but they were not diviners, nor were they seven... or Andals, whatever those are."

"This place did strike me a bit to up north to be Oldtown. But it seems I ended up in an even foreigner land... that, or my time has long been past." — the aggravating imbecile postulated, based on her lack of familiarity — "Where in the Mother's saggy teats did I end up anyway?"

"This forest surrounds Castle Einzbern... in the Alps." — she informed.

"And where in Crone's wrinkled-arse are these Alps at?"

"Germany…?" — the foul-mouthed ox didn't seem to recognize the country's name — "Europe…?" — nor the continent's — "Planet Earth…?" — not even the celestial body they inhabited — "…this is getting tiresome..."

"Aye, I concur, you appear as if in need of some rest. One bad tumble and you'd break as a clay statue, I reckon." — the rowdy savage noted — "What course are we to take then?"

"I-I don't know yet…" — the total sum of the deprivations she had to bear, nearly dying twice over, and the Heroic Spirit's premature presence, pushed her mental capacities well beyond their breaking point. Illya was simply too stressed to think straight, to plot what course of action to take next — "…but we're not to stray from the wastes. Until a time comes where Grandfather deems me no longer wanting, and allows me to return to the castle…"

"Are you not deserving already? You were able to summon me! The most valorous of Champions!" — his vainglory aside, the young magus had indeed manage to conduct the ritual well outside of the War's timeframe. An extraordinary feat in and of itself, all things considered — "What's more, a blind rat could see you are in no state to walk on your feet, much less wander around some decrepit woods, in my company or not. High time we made our way back to your family's keep I say…"

"That's not for you or me to decide."

"How so?"

" _Because_ , I cannot merely return to the castle. Not without sanction. It's impossible. There's a bounded field that encloses it, and it's too strong for any trespasser to break through. Without Old Man Acht's consent, none may venture past its outer perimeter. To say nothing of the additional defenses put in place should someone manage to-" —as his Master should've predicted, it all fell on deaf ears.

"Ha ha! Assaulting a sorcerers' fortress! A challenge worthy of song, fitting for the very first verse of our conquest! Come then, the bards await impatiently!" — her vehement warnings taken for a dare in his Neanderthal mindset — "Let us be off!"

"Did you not hear me, you mangy anim-!" — before Illya could berate him further for such an idiotic idea, the uncouth ruffian scooped her of the ground with his free arm, carrying her underneath it like a rolled up rug — "Hey! Put me down! Hey…!"

Ignoring his Master's marked protests, equally physical and verbal, the Servant readily set off in the direction of Einzbern Castle in wide strides. While Illya wished to impede him, before the thick-headed gorilla got them both in a predicament, her body was too weak. Too feeble to make use of a Command Spell even. The white-haired homunculus was at the mercy of his whims, same as she was when the cretin attacked her in a blind rage. Given her exhaustion, her struggle soon subsided, and she resigned herself to see where the hands of fate would guide them towards.

_Hopefully, not to an early grave…_

/\

\/

Getting past the bounded field turned out to be easier than Illya could've anticipated.

Given who its creators were, the magecraft involved in its construction had been first class. As its primary function, the barrier warped the very fabric of space around it, turning the grounds around it into a imperceptible maze. Even the greatest of magi would've trouble in realizing that they were being lead in circles while walking in a straight line. If, by chance, someone did reach the actual tangible line, its outer edge also acted as an impregnable wall, necessitating the equivalent of an Age of Gods level spell to just pierce it. Owing to his spiritual nature, or as he himself put it 'a Warrior's unstoppable resolve to find his target', her Servant was quick to detect and reach the field's boundary itself, unfazed by its distortion effects. As to how they were able to cross through…

He punched it,simple as that.

One instant, he took a single jab at the air in front of him and, in the next, the familiar profile of Castle Einzbern could be spotted a short distance away. His Master was left quite stupefied at the effortlessness with which he broke it, having dutifully parroted her seniors' boasts pertaining to the shattered barrier's supposed inviolability. She was left to wonder what kind of hero had she actually call forth into the world. Though not Heracles, such raw power could not be commonplace, even among Heroic Spirits. That, or the impregnability of the Einzbern's seat of power had been grossly overstated. The now mistrustful magus was increasingly more inclined towards the latter.

"What does one say per custom when arriving at another's homestead around these here parts?" — the Servant enquired as they stood before the portcullis grading and gigantic wooden gate doors.

"Why...?" — it was pointless to try and discern his motive, so Illya immediately gave up on her question. Instead, she opted to answer with the first thought that popped up in her mind — "Knock-knock...?"

"KNOCK-KNOCK!" — thousands of tiny fragments exploded inward as magically reinforced metal and wood were disintegrated with via a swift kick.

"What are you doing!?" — she screamed, shielding her face against the flying debris.

"Being gracious. It is customary for one to announce his presence, and yours is a large keep. I have to make sure I'm heeded if I'm to use the main gate." — Illya couldn't tell if her Servant was mocking her or that was him being serious. She could not decide on which would be worse.

"Why? You're a Servant, you could jump over the walls if you want to enter the castle that badly." — to say nothing that, technically, the main entrance to the castle was by the open courtyard, located on the opposite side of the castle. The massive gatehouse both passed under had been sealed off since the times of the First Grail War, when its usage had grown into a superfluous chore.

"Where's the fun in that!? The trek to one's conquest is what makes it worthwhile! The hardest journey begets the sweetest reward!" — he stepped inside the archaic foyer, treading over the clutter of rubble littering the entryway — "Besides, storming the gate sounds better on prose."

As Illya envisaged, her Servant's brazen entrance immediately triggered the remainder of the fortress's defensive mechanisms. Namely, its sizable army of golems and other assortment of alchemic creations designed for combat. The masterly crafted guardians materialized out of upper galleries, peering down at the intruders from front and sides with lifeless eyes. She had little doubt that, despite her status as the Grail's vessel, they would not hesitate in striking her down, nor would Grandfather halt them. Intrusion of any kind warranted a harsh response, and she was to die for her insolence.

"Ha Ha! Exciting, ain't it!? How many ages have gone by since the world got to revel in my vivacious youth!? To again at my prime… to again taste the thrill of battle with mortal flesh!" — the constructs snarled, poised for the kill, and then lunged at their chuckling target — "Praise be The Warrior Above! Triumph shall be his, as it is!"

The magical automatons tasked with protecting the Einzbern's hold were created with an idiosyncratic mentality still dating back to the Middle Ages, when the family rose to prominence. Prepared to withstand assault or siege by enemy forces of magi, and even modern day military she remembered Old Man Acht once boasting to her father. What they were _not_ ready for was dealing with a Servant…

_*thwack*_

…as became evident when one of the hound-like golems that jumped them turned into a fine pinkish mist, as the Heroic Spirit swatted it aside with his enormous warhammer. Undeterred by a lack of a self-preservation instinct, its brethren continue their attack…

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

…and met the same fate. Whole swats of them were wiped out each time he swung his Noble Phantasm, along with large sections of the castle's stonework. They came at him in droves, waves of flesh…

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

…and died in equal manner, crashing against a cliff of solid steel. Some of the sentinels stayed at the rear, flying high to pepper the armored juggernaut with spells and curses instead of closing in to melee. These did little but bounced off his plated mail, although he had to take care so that none of the indiscriminate shots hit Illya. Despite being out of reach, her Servant batted them out of the sky all the same…

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

…lobbing shards of wreckage akin a professional golfer. Hanging by his free arm like a coat, the pint-sized homunculus eventually found herself caught up in his enthusiasm, gleefully shouting 'Fore!' every time he did so. Each time he moved, each moment he existed, he was hurting her, yet, in the midst of battle, the rush of adrenaline proved to be one hell of an anesthetic. So enthralled was she by the first person perspective of the carnage he wrought, that the pain simply ceased to be for those fleeting moments.

Rather than a 'storming of the castle', the tempo with which they advanced through its halls resembled more that of a casual stroll, painting them with the gore of the beasts that threw themselves headlong into the meat grinder. It was perhaps fitting then that his warhammer resembled more an oversized butcher's mallet than any proper tool of war, ever redder the deeper they went. As they did, the deadlier and more ancient the constructs spewed forth by the bowls of the old bastion became, but to her Servant all where the same…

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

All died the same.

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

_*thwack*_

In due time, the two reached the main atrium, where a mass of human-like homunculi servants awaited, each carrying an outlandish outsized weapon. However, unlike the non-sentient golems, these opted not to charge headlong into the fray, opting to hold a defensive ring around the newcomers instead. Although they would not hesitate to engage him at a moment's notice, their consciousness gave them a certain degree of hesitating fear, Illya noted.

"Illyasviel!"

Emerging from the crowd, the shout of Jubstacheit von Einzbern, current head of the house, reverberated through the ample great hall, built in the distinct style of a gothic cathedral. Moving through his serfs, all of whom he had created himself, the patriarch accosted the trespassing duo with tranquil assertiveness, exuding an imperious ire but nonetheless stoic.

"You do well and justify this… insurrection of yours, Illyasviel. This instant." — he demanded, not cowed by the blood-covered Servant that gently set down his Master.

"…" — Illya lingered in a subdued silence. There wasn't much to explain other than the shameful admission that she simply could not control him.

"I see." — which he was quick to catch on — "The failure to chain the Heroic Spirit to your will is proof of your lacking as the Einzbern's Master. You are to return to the confines of the wasteyard for as long as I deem it fit. As our representative in the Holy Grail War, such is your duty."

"You're the lord of this here castle I'm assuming?" — the Servant decided to speak up in her stead — "Yes… yes, you do look as one. A festering pile of goat shite that would send a child into the woods to fend for herself, naked as the day when she crawled out of her mother."

"And you neglected to summon Berserker as well." — her grandfather noted, arriving at the same conclusion as she did when he first talked — "Though his restraint seems no less absent. Speaking out-of-turn, on his Master's behalf, with such impertinence."

"…I tried to stop him, but he…" — Illya meekly attempted to argue, but her relative's posturing did not budge.

"Excuses are meaningless, Illyasviel. Although accomplishing a summoning at this time is a praiseworthy feat in of itself, it does not serve as a suitable pretext for your failure to exert your absolute authority. With the body we've bestowed, you should be more than capable to reign in his insubordination. We as a founding family, as seekers and heirs to Third Magic, cannot allow ourselves to be guided by the feckless inclinations of a bounded soul. This is unacceptable." — he lectured on.

"Unacceptable would be for me to let my Master wander through some dark dreary woodland, in constant pain. So, I've decided to bring her here. This place seems more comfortable to be at." — the Heroic Spirit interjected — "And don't go contemplating that the girl be able to shackle me either. Warrior's like myself have a notorious repute for being difficult to control, even for the most skilled of sorcerers."

"I care not for what pain may afflict the vessel, nor do I bother with justifications for her own shortcomings. My sole interest lies in that she performs the task she was born to perform. Illyasviel's but a lump flesh in the shape of a human being, devised to be the physical embodiment of the Holy Grail, nothing else. A marionette such as her is of no use to the Einzbern family if she cannot even carry out the role it was meant to play in a satisfactory manner." — her grandfather's callousness was nothing new to Illya.

Nay a single natural-born human carried the name of von Einzbern ever since the days when her template first attempted to carry out Third Magic. And, as every other member of her house, she had been given a specific role to fulfill from the time of her conception, a design to which her body had been painstakingly optimized for. Each a cog in a grand wheel. Even Acht himself merely acted as the extension of the castle's will, on orders that dated centuries back by its original masters. To continue their quest towards regaining the miracle lost, an obsession she had been imparted with for the last decade, to strive for anything but victory in the coming War.

"I would choose the words by which you refer to her with care, you half-decayed piss-ant. You lot may not be Targaryen, dragonspawn even… but, bearing such semblance… I'd _thoroughly_ get off reducing you to a bloodstain still…" — her towering Servant growled, then pointing his finger at a spot behind the Old Man — "…same as _that_ one on the wall."

"There is no-" — curiosity got the better of the elder magus, turning his head around to take a peek over his shoulder…

_*wham*_

…right as an armored hand grabbed its back, and then slammed it _hard_ against the aforementioned spot.

"There… do you see it now?" — the Heroic Spirit sneered, rubbing Acht's skull onto the cracked stone.

"You…" — his nose and jaw in all certitude broken, and his face smeared with a crimson mask, Illya's grandfather could only stammer in response amid gurgles — "What… do…?"

"What do I wish for, sorcerer? Why, surrender of course! You're the ruler of this keep, the same one I've happen to conquer. By the laws of war, it falls unto you the duty to yield it." — their Master a hostage, the other homunculi did not dare to act out of fear of further endangering his wellbeing.

"Y-Y-Yield…!?" — pure venom of a notion to someone of blood so proud — "You would've… me… forfeit control of my house to a… a chained spirit? A mere slave… whose presence we've… we've engender?"

"The Gods can be proper cunts, can they not? For the Warrior to have chosen me, as to bring down yet another noble house! Usurper once again!" — he let out another guffaw — "Many were those that referred to me as such, aye… but you're mistaken in that regard, sorcerer. I once tried to be King and… Seven help me, what a mess that was! The realm bleeding dry into near ruin… and those who I held dearest dying due to my mistakes… because I'd rather grow fat than get off my arse. They all deserved better than what I was. I am good at winning a throne, not sitting upon one, that much the tales will tell. So it's not to me you'll have to swear fealty too, should you… should _any_ of you wish to keep on breathing." — he turned towards Illya, dragging Acht along — "It's to her that you _will_ bend the knee."

"Me?" — who was left in absolute bewilderment by his sudden announcement.

"Her!?" — a sentiment shared by the other occupants of the basilica — "To bow down to the caprices of a barely mature vessel… the progeny of that traitor… that will be all but rot in a couple of years time!? That serves no other purpose but for the Grail to-!"

"Did I not say you best keep that tongue of yours in check?" — the Servant readjusted the vice grip, his fingers now covering Acht's blood-soaked mouth — "The same goes for the rest of you lot! Puppets you may be, I see you were still given brains! So make use of your smarts… serve her and help win the Trial for this house! Bend the knee, or die where you stand! For as long as she lives, for as long as I am beside her…"

He got on one knee, forcing the battered patriarch to his fours. Then, much her shock, the remaining crowd did the same as him, prostrating before her one by one. Raising his warhammer in her direction, the Heroic Spirit, this self-proclaimed ill-fated king, howled. A roar equal to that of an earthquake, a proclamation that shook the very foundations of Castle Einzbern.

" **She's the Queen of this castle!"**

" **Illyasviel von Einzbern! First of her name!"**

" **The Warrior's chosen! Victor to be!"**

" **My Master!"**

It goes without saying that Illya's opinion of her Servant suffered a marked step-up...

/\

\/

My feet are wet.

I stand only ankle-deep in raging water, yet I'm drowning in the boiling blood coursing through my veins. Lungs turned into bellows feeding sullied air to the embers burning bright within. Muscles ache, tense as the strings of a lute. Metal and leather glued to my skin by the summer's warmth, almost as if fused together, stifling my movements, making them tiresome to execute. Senses growing duller by fatigue, save for my sight. That remains as sharp, as focused.

I need it to be so.

I cannot find my enemy otherwise.

If I look below, I would see a frothing river, trout splashing their way upstream. If I look above, I would see a misty sky, falcons soaring high beneath the clouds. If I look behind, I would see a black forest, wolves prowling through the dark woods. And if I look to the side, I would see a rocky hill in the distance, lions warily perched atop it. But I do not see any, nor do I need to, nor am I able to. For my gaze is firmly fixed to what's in front of me…

_He has to die._

…towards the opposite bank, but an endless field of golden roses under a red sun. A black dragon, eyes of purple, a fiery red breath, silver wings enveloping the entirety of the horizon.

I never felt so much hatred towards something as I do at this moment.

_He has to die._

Fury overtakes me, commands me… and I obey, gladly. I charge forward, to put down the winged beast, like the foul creature he is. The wind howls sharply, the screams of dying men, the thundering steel, the taste of salt and copper, the rumble of earth and water, washed away. The battlefield melts away, muted, as I my attention is aimed at the monster solely.

_He has to die._

I swing my hammer at him, all of my anger put into it.

_He has to die._

But he's not without skill, dodging my blows and striking back.

_He has to die._

Our attacks graze each other's armor, chipping away small chunks.

_He has to die._

He slashes at my face. Had I been less experienced, he could've decapitated me there, ending the contest. But my honed instincts told me to duck, and so I listened. He cuts one of the antlers in my helm, a paltry blow. One that leaves him exposed.

_*thwack*_

The first hit. His armor cracks, a ruby falls on the water and dissolves like a chunk of salt, turning the river crimson. He tries to retaliate, but he's too stunned from the previous blow. Again, he misses, again leaving him wide open.

_*thwack*_

The second hit. His front shell is shattered, his blood and another ruby flow freely onto the water, dyeing it another shade darker. The dragon falls onto the riverbed, lying on his back, defenseless. I swing my warhammer down once last time.

_*thwack*_

The final hit. Right into his black heart, his chest exploding into a shower of ripped flesh and shattered bone. All of the rubies fall into the water, further polluting the river with their poison. I stand tall above my defeated foe, triumphant… yet he's the one who's laughing.

I smash the head of the warhammer against his chest time and time again.

Yet he laughs.

I then bring it down on his face, obliterating his helm and crushing his skull.

Yet he laughs.

I toss my weapon aside, using my armored fists to tear off his smirk for good.

Yet he laughs.

I scream, a rage that silences even the Gods themselves.

Yet his laughter is louder…

I look up, my hands drenched in the dragonspawn's blood.

In front of me is a statue…

Of a woman weeping red tears…

A tomb…

I see now why he laughs.

It's only natural that he does so.

In the end, he's the one who won.

It's he that has her…

/\

\/

From a field flooded by a shallow tide of metallic grey and vermillion, with hundreds of colorful banners fluttering in the breeze, Illya found herself staring at the dull ceiling of her bedroom. Her mind still reeling from the deep reaches of slumber, the small magus remained motionless, her heavy body stretched across the oversized mattress. While she didn't feel like sleeping anymore, there was no point in getting up before someone came to wake her up. That night had been the same, as every other night after she had become Warrior's Master. Always that nightmare…

On the earliest occasions, she was at a loss to its meaning. Now, having talked to Warrior, she knew. She knew exactly why she often felt more worn-out than when she would retire for the night. Experiencing his wrath in the flesh, his weariness, his ephemeral moment of triumph only to be shot down by the realization that he had lost what he was fighting for in the first place. And, finally, the hindsight of knowing what the future hold in store for the battle-won king. How her Champion managed to keep up his jovial nature she was always left to ponder, till a knock came from the door.

Sella walked in with a fresh change of clothes, and patiently waited for her lady to change into them. As the days passed, the burden of sustaining the Heroic Spirit she had summoned several weeks ago became ever lighter, allowing Illya to perform such menial tasks by herself once more. As a matter of fact, it was on that day that they were supposed to travel to their estate in Japan, she remembered, asking then for Warrior's whereabouts. The homunculus maid informed that he was 'in the company of her equals', meaning he was fucking around with the other female servants, in the literal sense of that word.

Illya ordered Sella to go fetch and direct him to the dining hall where she was to have breakfast. The first time around, the Master had made the mistake of doing so herself, to find her Champion spread-eagled over a bed, butt naked, with half a dozen of the castle's maids (also naked) serving as his blanket. Though they were instructed to do whatever he pleased with them, she could swore some of them seemed… eager to enjoy Warrior's company again. Regardless, she made sure Sella and Leysritt were off limits… which had the predictable effect of making the duo all the more tantalizing to him.

"Again?" — the magus' exasperated sigh echoed through the mostly empty chamber.

"Apologies, milady. Given the circumstances…" — Leysritt took a deep bow. The meager breakfast she had brought to the table was as such not because her lady desired it so. Rather, it was because a certain 'guest' had gone and raided the castle pantry, despoiling of its entire contents. _Again_.

"It's fine…" — _It's not fine._ Illya, thought to herself, grumpy and hungry, but there was little she could do about it at that point.

Such impotence had been a common motif in her life for the past two months: the new head of the von Einzbern family acting as the veritable mother of a hyperactive enfant terrible. If he couldn't gulp it down his throat it, have sex with it or kill it, then he would quickly grow bored and go off to find something else that fit those criteria. A conclusion she hadn't been the first to arrive to, according to the Champion himself. Those of the Warrior had a well-merited infamy for being insubordinate, he had also mentioned, doing whatever they well pleased, ignoring every order save for their Master's Command Spells. Such recalcitrance was to be the price of her newfound station apparently.

Due to his wayward behavior, the castle's food storages had to be restocked on a daily basis, while its various maids often had to attend to his near feral lust. Also working overtime, on Illya's orders, the family alchemists were kept busy producing more of the same battle-type constructs he had fought beforehand, so he could then entertain himself by killing them time and again. Warrior had even given specifications that they should be created with platinum hair and purple eyes, the reasons for which were lost on everyone save Champion and Master. The latter's original idea had been to send him back to the wasteyard to pass the time but, half a day later, he returned saying there was nothing else for him to hunt, a fact the servants later confirmed. Two hundred years' worth of failed experiments… wiped out before dinnertime.

The only respite from his unruly nature came when she asked him for details about the land he hailed from, Westeros. Of his mysterious homeland there was plenty he would tell with boisterous keenness, painting a fascinating picture of this foreign world, of a reality parallel to hers. Tales of great heroes of old, the legendary founders of equally grand houses, names that Illya knew nothing of, but sounded every bit as celebrated as her History's: Bran the Builder, Lann the Clever, Garth Greenhand, The Grey King, Artys Arryn, Nymeria Martell, Aegon the Conqueror, and Warrior's own ancestor Durran Godsgrief. Suiting his character, he was also more than inclined to speak of his own tale and those of his contemporaries, spinning his life has an immense epic for the ages to come.

Of course, all of this storytelling wasn't just plain curiosity on his Master's part. Afterall, it was a vital part of any War to collect as much information as possible, especially regarding all the new potential Heroic Spirits they could end up facing. Reason why she kept pressing for more specifics about the Holy Trial of Seven, though he was less than thrilled to explain the more tedious tidbits of information. That man's conduct befitted that of a teenage brat far too often for any sane person's liking…

" _*burp*_ Morning, Your Grace! _*burp*_ "

Speaking of the devil…

Though Warrior entered from the other side of the hall, some fifty meters away, Illya's nostrils could still pick up the smell of alcohol escaping his breath, propelled forward by his belching. It was evident that, in addition to filling his gut with his Master's (and everybody else's) breakfast, he had also been sucking the castle's distillery dry for the umpteenth time. Never mind the fact that the installation was never intended to produce liquor, but rather the ethanol necessary for many of the family's alchemic magecraft. Not that he cared.

"Good morning…" — she greeted in return once he threw himself onto the seat by her side, a reek of lust now mixing with that of his inebriation.

"So… what precise motive compels a Master to summon her Champion this early in the morrow, may I ask?" — showcasing the already familiar amount of brass beseeming his type, Warrior jumped straight to the point at hand — "Methinks a few more hours of rest would've done us both good."

"Much as I wish to lie down a while longer…" — her newfound commitments and recurrent nightmares allowed for little in terms of relaxation, in a bed or otherwise — "…you and I have a serious matter to attend to. Today is the day we travel to Japan."

"It's finally time then!" — ever itching for a fight, Warrior was predictably delighted by the news, with the antiquated wooden table and chair suffering the full brunt of his enthusiasm.

"Yes, it should not be long before this Grail War… or should I say, this Holy Trial of Seven commences in full." — the strain imposed on the magic circuits of her body had, for the most part, vanished, proof that the anointed time drew near — "Hence why we're moving to our base near Fuyuki."

"Just the two of us?"

"Of course not, Sella and Leysritt are coming too. We won't be needing anyone else, so the rest will stay here." — Illya was sure Old Man Acht would be delighted to return to his place as head of the castle.

Then again, it's not that he had lost his position in the first place. Though its servants deferred to her wishes, they did so only because her grandfather ordered them to. The patriarch had likely realized that if they were to win the War, it was best to cooperate and accept her (temporary) rulership, even his if this meant swallowing his deep-rooted pride and accede to her whims. The Grail was that much important to the family.

"And before you ask, no. This does not mean I'm granting you permission to use those two to satisfy your... appetites."

"You do them a awful disservice, Your Grace. But, I'll defer to your command…" — he assured her, though not without pouting and rolling his eyes like a child denied a toy — "Are Japanese women a good enough substitute at least? The maids here left quite the impression to beat…"

"How would I know that!?" — his Master retorted, doing her darndest to block out her train of thoughts from veering towards figuring out what those women did to earn the praise of such a seasoned womanizer.

"Aye, true enough. One cannot expect much in terms of carnal knowledge from a small child."

"Watch who you're calling a child, you cretin. I'm eighteen years of age." — a fact she ought to remember him of more often. Perhaps then the Heroic Spirit would treat her with more deference. Or perhaps not, given his personality.

"Either the years are not the same as mine's, or the Gods have been truly cruel to you, Your Grace. A woman stuck in a child's body is a dreadful thing indeed." — the gap between body and mental age was something of a divisive issue to Illya. On one hand, part of her wished she could develop more feminine characteristics, while the other simply enjoyed the fact that could pass off as a child to most — "Missing out on all the fun."

"Given what your idea of 'fun' usually entails..." — yes, she could definitely stand to pass such sordid activities.

"Seven be shitting me!" — he gave a hearty laugh — "To see my Master jealous of her own maids!"

"I AM NOT!" — she snapped back, quite indignant at his insolent assumption — "Don't go levy such base accusations at your own Master, you horndog!"

Though, in all fairness, she had to grudgingly admit he was quite handsome beneath all that plated armor he materialized in. Aside from a well-toned strongman physique, made all the more eye-catching by the fact that he had only bothered to put on pants that morning, his facial features were something many women would be left gawking at longingly. A chiseled jawline dotted with a permanent five o'clock shadow, with curly charcoal brown hair hanging just above two mischievous eyes and an equally devilish grin.

Such was to be expected of a Heroic Spirit, a soul shaped by the collective perceptions of Humanity. As in any theatre play or movie, History had a way of beautifying its main actors, regardless of the stage they performed on.

"Mayhap you oughta sound less flustered when you say such. Tone betrays words, Jon used to lecture." — Warrior rubbed his chin, fancying himself a philosopher — "All well regardless. I prefer women that have some meat I can grab onto anyhow. Seven Hells, I should take the chance and try for the Eight once more while I'm here. Aye, one from each continent…"

"There are only seven continents..." — and Illya doubted he would find any willing women from Antarctica… _and why am I even giving this thought?_ — "…to say nothing of the fact that you weren't summoned just so you can go around whoring! That ends once we leave today, so you best... Hey! Where do you think you're going!?"

"Figure I make best of the few hours of leisure left, Your Grace. My bed was left warm and wanting…" — Warrior waved off her objection, scurrying for the hall's exit.

"Oh no you don't!" — jumping out of her seat, the loud thud given off by Illya's palms came close to breaking the already battered dinner table — "Get back here! We haven't finished talking yet!"

"Have we not?" — he raised an eyebrow, half-annoyed, half-anxious to return to his predilect pastime — "I thought I was only summoned so you inform me of our coming departure. What else is there to discuss?"

"That's true, but..." — but she couldn't let him just walk out on her like that, without the explicit permission of his Master. She had to take the reins of their conversation, diverting it elsewhere for a start — "While we're on the subject of the Trial, I figure I could inquire you about it some more."

"This again?" — he grunted, returning to his seat — "I'm certain I told you everything you need to know about it already."

"Certainty isn't a reliable standard coming from the likes of you. And your Master still has questions she needs answers to, so… Sit. Down." — ever the rare achievement, that she actually made him hearken her words never failed once to inflate the young magus' chest with smug.

"Fine, fine. What is it you want me to answer then?"

"Umm… Well…" — only for it to quickly deflate as she struggled to come up with an actual question amid a lingering silence — "…that's right! I figure I should ask what is it you're going to wish for if we win-"

"When wewin, Your Grace." — he amended.

"Yes, w _hen_ we win." — she had to concur — "What are you planning to ask the Gods anyway? I don't think we ever talked about it."

"Does it really matter?"

"I'm the one asking the questions. And yes, it does. Now answer."

"Nothing."

"N-Nothing?"

"Aye. I have no desire for the Gods to fulfill." — Warrior declared — "Can I-?"

"No, you cannot leave!" — reeling from the revelation, Illya wasn't about to let him walk out on her without an explanation — "How is it that an Heroic Spirit like you doesn't want anything from winning the Trial!? Isn't that the whole motivation for the Champions to fight each other!? To obtain a miracle and have your deepest wish realized!?"

"Your Grace misunderstands. I do wish for something out of the coming Trial." — he clarified — "That is, besting all the opponents the other Gods are to array against me. Victory itself is the reward I seek, nothing more. No finer laurel can be desired."

"So obtaining the wish is what you wish for, uh? Just for the bragging rights? I guess such simple-minded goal is within the mindset of a bloodthirsty brute such as you. But still… isn't there anything else you'd want, like… I don't know, a second life maybe?" — that's what most Servants strived for in the Holy Grail War, at least according to Old Man Acht.

"That!? Seven Hells, why would I want that!? Beyond the Trial, either world bores now me to no end. You yourself complain that I constantly pester you for entertainment. No, the Halls of the Warrior's Heaven is where I truly belong. An eternity worth of challenge, banquet and fornication. Fighting, feasting and fucking! What more could a man ask for?" — the more Warrior talked about his patron's Heaven the more the image of a glistening Valhalla would come to mind. Little wonder it was then that he found this plane of existence, and all its restraints, tedious.

"Even so..." — her dream popped to mind, the statue crying blood — "Why not ask to-?"

"Bring her back to my arms?" — he gave a light chuckle at the notion, as if finding it preposterous, much to his Master's bafflement — "Aye… I _could_ ask for that. Seven know how I've yearn it throughout my life, ever since that accursed dragonspawn took her from me."

"Then why…?" — she could not understand his hesitation, not after all those unrestful nights experiencing his loss first-hand.

"Changing the past invites nothing but more trouble, Your Grace. It's best to leave it untouched…" — he responded.

"That doesn't make any sense! Not coming from you, of all people!" — an answer Illya was certainly not expecting to hear. Given his self-indulgent persona, damn whatever the obstacles or consequences, one would think Warrior would be more than eager to be reunited with the woman he loved so dearly.

"There was a time I would not hesitate to ask, true. My whole life after winning that damn chair was spent pondering on how it could've been different. How I could've been happier if she was just there, at my side. A woman who I truly did not know, whose face I can't remember… then… now… just that of her tomb." — he sneered in self-derision — "The fool I was. Longing for something I knew I could never have back, consoling myself at the expense of the realm and my subjects… and what came of it. My wife fucking her brother behind my back, calving that little blond shit I had to call my son, Joffrey… and that whole bloody mess that followed. Yet, she did the same for Myrcella and Tommen, both good kids. Better than what I deserved, better a ruler than I ever got to be."

In mournful contemplation, to the perplexity of his Master, his speech paused for a fleeting moment.

"So by what right can this piss-poor king deny them? What's to say that what happen wasn't the best possible outcome for those involved? Mayhap it was the worse. More likely it was somewhere down the middle. I do not possess the Gods' foresight, nor do I want to. I've lived my life already, suffered through my errors… a good lesson for others to learn from, if nothing else. Those of the Warrior conquer the challenges that lie ahead, never to look at what was lost behind their backs. I should not care about victories I could've achieved, only those that are yet to be have."

"That's..." — though not the first time he had shown signs of it, the Einzbern homunculus often forgot that Warrior's general buffoonery obfuscated a wiser facet of him — "...oddly selfless of you, I must admit."

"Such cutting praise. As it befits a high-and-mighty Queen." — he chaffed in response to his 'liege'.

Queen Illyasviel von Einzbern, First of her Name, as he had declared in the center of the Great Hall, yesterday it seemed. The Warrior's chosen! Victor to be!

She'd be lying to herself if being referred by any of those titles didn't make the small(er) girl inside her giddy with joy. Though she was technically the second of the house's heads to bear that name, Illya shoved that pesky detail aside, not feeling like ruining the fantasy-like moment of her coronation on account of a triviality. Besides until her, there had been no Einzbern monarchs to speak of, so…

"Then if I'm allowed the courtesy, Your Grace, may I ask as to the reason you covet the prize so fervently? I'm rather curious as to why." — breaking out of her brief reverie, it was somewhat surprising for Illya to see her Champion taking an interest in his Master. Though she had probe him for information hundreds of times over the last couple of months, he (or anyone else for that matter) never once bother to ask in kind till that point, catching her off-guard.

"The Einzberns have been pursuing the Grail ever since the inception of the Holy Grail War, two hundred years ago. I want to be the one who finally accomplishes it." — the programmed response, devoid of either honesty or falsehood, encoded into every of the family's creations. It was the sole driving force behind a bloodline long deprived of its humanity.

"Trouble is, Your Grace, this isn't the Holy Grail War anymore. Our victory will bring forth the Holy Star, not this cup. In that sense, you've failed already." — he pointed out.

"Not if I ask the Gods for the Grail. They have the power to grant it to me… right?"

"In all likelihood. But why would you ask for it then?" — Warrior pressed on, still not satisfied by the apathetic reply.

"What do you mean why!? It's the whole reason I had to become a Master!" — she retorted.

"Indeed. You _had_ to. Your family made you their representative so you could obtain the Holy Grail for them. To attain this Third Magic that old fucker kept blabbering on about, that much is clear." — he leaned forward, his eyes diving into hers as to fish out an honest answer out of the depths of her self — "But what is it that _you_ want? Your Grace is no longer bound by their desires. Only yours and yours alone. King or Queen, none bow to the wantings of others. And for The Warrior to have chosen you, out of all the scores of candidates a to him, it means you bear the greatest out of all of them."

"I..." — the truth was that, despite being little more than a doll, an instrument, a living stepping stone to achieve Third Magic, she had hold onto a forlorn hope of her own — "What does it even matter to you? Mine's being the 'greatest out of all of them'. What does that even mean? Do the Gods pick Masters based on their motivations?"

"More or less. Each have, shall we say, a preference, certain traits they give favoritism when picking a Master to stand for them, much like how Heroic Spirits falls under their respective Heaven upon death. The Warrior, for instance, patrons those who wield the utmost lust for triumph, as proof of their supremacy over their peers. Those that thrive on honorable and glorious competition, that seek to obtain that which they yearn the most, damn whatever stands in-between." — a trait shared by her family, no doubt.

"How about the other Gods?" — in light of this new information, there was a valuable change to gain some possible insight into their competition's mindset.

"Them?" — though Warrior was less thrilled in discussing his Lord's rivals — "Well, to put it short… we have The Father, who favors those who adhere to his ideal of justice, the righteous and the lawful. Then comes The Mother, always with a soft spot for any poor miserable sod (and dragonspawn lest we forget), ever eager to soothe their pain. As for the other two women, The Maiden has a liking for the up-and-coming types, the young that stand to show off the old, while The Crone is all about that 'true power lies within knowledge' nonsense. Lastly, The Smith usually settles for the underdogs, those who lack in natural talent but make it up for it with bullheaded resolve, and the Stranger…"

"…picks up assassins and the shadowy sort, I imagine." — of the seven, it was perhaps the only one that had a clear equivalent to the typical Servant classes.

"All of its are like that, aye. But returning to what we were conversing about…" — in spite of her attempt to divert the discussion elsewhere, the Heroic Spirit was not about to leave the preceding topic go unanswered — "I'm somewhat intrigued. From what I saw, your line is obsessed with reaping what they've sown. But that's them, and theirs was not the reason The Warrior chose you. To so ardently desire this Grail. There's more to it than that. Something else..."

"..."

Illya hesitated for a few moments, though she had no real reason to do so. She could tell him to shut up, and soon enough his restless mind would drift somewhere else, she figured. As her Champion, he had no business in making such inquires and, likewise, she had no obligation to answer them.

"My Father…"

Yet, the young magus felt nonetheless obligated to do so truthfully. To his Master, Warrior had been nothing but brutally honest. He had laid out his beliefs and what spur him on, admitting to his faults and mistakes forthright and, more than she cared to admit, his words actually struck a chord.

"He was a Master in the previous War, ten years ago. He came into the family as an outsider, brought in just so he could win the Holy Grail, where so many of us had failed. My Mother, the previous vessel, was offered to him, and so were the means to summon one of the strongest Heroic Spirits. The Einzberns gave everything a man like him could ever need to win the contend, and he nearly succeeded. But…"

After a lifetime of curbing her emotions out of the existence of a goal that superseded her own happiness, opening up to someone else in that manner felt awkward to the homunculus. By Old Man Acht's admission, she was but the mold from which the Grail would take shape, and those around her had come to expect that she acted as little more than an inanimate cup.

"…in the end, he revealed himself a traitor. He betrayed us by ordering his Servant to destroy the Grail, even after Mother had to sacrifice herself for it to manifest. Maybe that's why you and rest are here, Champions instead of Servants. Grandfather, of course, never forgave him for what he did, but still…"

However, whether a decade or two centuries, the humanity the Einzberns once had could not be wholly expunged.

"…I could've! I could've forgiven him! If he had just came back for me! He could've told me why he had to do it! Why Mother had to die for nothing! I didn't care about the War back then! I didn't care about the Holy Grail! I didn't care about Third Magic! Just... just that he had promised to come back, but never did! He abandoned me, at the hands of those who would only see his traitorous blood tainting her veins! His own daughter… only to replace me! To take another as his son!"

And despite the undignified outburst, Warrior did not seem to censor her for it, like Illya had come to expect. On the contrary, he looked on approvingly as she let an ire that had been building for the last ten years pour out.

"So that's what your heart craves. Vengeance. Against the man who betrayed you, and against the little dirty thief that stole him. Is that what you want, Your Grace?"

_Is it?_

Illya once fancy the thought of using the Grail to fix it all. Rewind the clock, and make sure both her parents did not leave her that fateful day. Part of her had even fantasized about having a little brother to dote on. She simply wanted to regain the family she had lost.

Yet, Warrior was right. Why fix the past? That would be tantamount to forgive both Father and her 'sibling' for what they had done. To erase their crime. So why would she? Why should she carry their guilt with her? Treachery of that kind should not go without retribution.

_Yes._

That's why The Warrior chose Robert Baratheon to be her Champion. The Usurper, The Demon of the Trident, The Crowned Stag, The Whoremonger King, The Doom the befell Valyria's Children. Given the circumstances, the catalyst for Heracles could never have worked, so she was bestowed with the Heroic Spirit best suited for her instead. Someone who had a loved one stolen from them and could never have them back. As Robert had punished Rhaegar for taking Lyanna away from him, Illya was going to punish Kiritsugu and Shirou likewise.

The young Queen smiled at the thought, and her Warrior reciprocated in kind.

"My Lady, I've it finished." — interrupting her thoughts, Sella entered the dinner hall, holding a large piece of neatly folded purple cloth.

"Let me see! Let me see!" — she promptly snatched it out of her maid's hands and laid it over the table.

"What's that?" — the impatient giant seated next to her asked as she unfurled it — "Oh? A coat of arms? That of your house?"

"No, mine…" — _and mine alone_ — "A Queen needs to have a banner for her men to fight under, doesn't she?"

"Aye… and a Champion needs his lady's favor."

/\

\/

 _*HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_ _HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_ _AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH_ _AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH_   _*_

Warrior's clamorous mirth broke through the winter zephyr, the same that carried the fluttering banner attached to the upper shaft of his warhammer. Against the nightly backdrop, a field of purple wherein a snow white grail bejeweled with two crimson rubies stood, flanked by a pair of golden antlers, as if two hands holding the cup aloft at a moment of absolute triumph. And embroidered at the bottom were the words the Einzbern magus had chosen for herself: _Durch Sieg Gesalbt_.

As his laughter continued to resonate throughout the deserted road, her Champion got to size up his would-be adversaries, as he slowly descended the slope to met them.

"Gods be kind! Two in one night!" — Warrior extolled towards the Heavens, not once bereft of breath — "Which am I to lay low first then!? Volunteers!?"

"I shall be your opponent." — the intruding Heroic Spirit, no doubt spurred on by the direct threat to her Master's well-being, declared with firm resolve, stepping forth to his challenge.

"Saber, wait-!" — who, still dumbfounded by the unfolding events, tried to intercede only to have his path blocked by Rin, whose face chided him to stand back.

"You, pretender!? Prancing as if you are one of that cockless stick-up-his-arse's hollow-headed sword-swallowers!?" — her Champion again cackled, which the faker took as a direct insult, judging by her tightening glare.

Such derision was not without cause though. The Seven were anything but harmonious, with contention and longstanding feuds between its members galore, according to the Heroic Spirit. None more so than the enmity between The Father and The Warrior, each a facet for a particular, conflicting ideal of what constituted a Hero. Hers stood for those who strived to achieve personal glory and gain, focusing above all on marshal pride and honor, while the other's abided by righteousness of cause and enforcement of the law, caring solely that his concept of justice is upheld. Service to oneself, servitude to another. Bold vanquisher, humble paladin. And naturally, this antagonism carried over to the Trial were, given the stakes, each side would instinctively come to prioritize the elimination of his patron's main rival.

Even if she couldn't be That of the Father, Illya was certain Warrior would get a kick in dispatching the false Champion anyhow. Some female knight so assuredly a reflection of their benefactor's most hated rival.

"Well… who am I to slight such ardent inclination!? To deny us both of the satisfaction!? Granted, with a woman, I'd rather use this here pole than my warhammer." — Warrior emphasized by gesturing his crotch — "Though you, Lannister, with those pretty green eyes, that pretty golden hair… "

"Someone concurs with me." — Rin's Champion quipped to himself.

"…yours is a face that comes to remind me of my wife's." — akin an incandescent light bulb, Illya felt all of her magic circuits flaring up at once through the feedback.

***I CAN HARDLY WAIT TO HAVE IT KISSED WITH MY STEEL!-!-!***

Growling like a deranged animal, Warrior promptly leaped several dozen meters into the sky, diving at his challenger with an downward swing. The fake Champion managed to easily parry the telegraphed strike with her invisible sword, though the soil beneath her caved in due to the impact's velocity, creating a crater in the stony walkway. Her footing temporarily lost, the hulking Heroic Spirit quickly followed up with a side swipe, sending her careening against the side of the slope. She recovered fast, sidestepping a shoulder tackle while swinging at him, which he avoided by throwing himself down on the ground. As he did, he executed a sweeping kick, which she also dodged by jumping into a spinning slash, too warded off.

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

Despite the initial shock, once passed, the false Saber was quick to adapt to Warrior's style of combat, with both combatants exchanging blow for blow, neither holding an overwhelming advantage nor scoring a direct hit. Her Champion had the raw power and bulk, while his adversary had a refined sword technique and the nimbleness to counter it, always mindful to keep the high ground. Their bout began to resemble the contend between a raging bull and an agile matador, the latter fending off the former's frantic charges while looking for an opening to deliver a killer blow.

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

Each time sword and warhammer collided, her eardrums erupted with piercing clangor, as though they were turned into large gongs. Profuse due to the presence of the three Heroic Spirits, the prana saturating the atmosphere froze to a standing still whenever their weapons crash into one another, bursting then into a wild gust when separated. Mother Nature held her breath as their duel unfolded at a dazzling pace, much like the congregated audience that struggled to accompany it, the bright sparks that flew off whenever the metal clashed providing the sole reliable visual guide. Among the four spectators however, an odd one stood out…

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

…which soon came to the attention of another.

"Archer!" — Rin screamed upon realizing that her Champion had been idle throughout the confrontation till that point — "Just what are you waiting for!? Stop gawking and provide assistance, post haste! Help Saber!"

"I am helping her, Master." — he explained, seemingly calm and not diverting his sight from the fray, much to his Master's and Shirou's confusion.

"How exactly are you helping her!? I don't see you doing anything!" — she pointed out.

"Which is how I'm helping her." — he retorted — "Joining the fight will not do either of us any good. The Warrior's…"

"In what world does that make sense!?" — only to be cut short before he could explain himself.

 _Oh, Rin… so ignorant…_ Illya grinned, overhearing the exchange.

Then again, if her fellow Master had only conducted the summoning a few days prior, it was to be expected that the inner workings of the Holy Trial of Seven eluded her still. Though, she ought to know better than to outright dismiss what her Champion was trying to convey. The so-called Archer's refusal to jump in and aid his ally was quite sound, but beside him none besides him knew why apparently.

A golden opportunity thus presented itself…

"Warrior! Disengage the faker! Attack the other Champion! Go after Archer!" — she commanded, not about to let him elucidate her.

On prompt, Warrior forced some distance between himself and the false Saber, before turning around and stampeding downhill.

"…ah, shite!" — right towards his new target, and the two magi precariously close by he now noticed.

_*clang*_

Reacting quickly, he materialized his Semblant Relic, some Viking-looking hammer, and struck the ground. Once Warrior reached the bottom, the base of the hill gave away under his weight and numerous monoliths shot up from the earth around him. Dozens of these craggy fingers clenched down on Illya's Champion, burying him underneath a jagged mound. But the homunculus was unconcerned. She knew such paltry attempt would do little to halt his impetus, and none were more aware of the fact than Archer himself.

"Get back! That won't hold-!" — his warning got interrupted as Warrior, erupting from a cloud of dust, clasped the side of his head and drove into the asphalt. Rin and Shirou stood bewildered as he passed right through them, his momentum unabated, scraping the seized skull along the way.

_*clang*_

Before he could paint the road with its grisly contents, the section Warrior was running across turned into a springboard, propelling both men skywards. Rather than trying to counter the inertia of his charge outright, Archer simply added vertical acceleration, in an effort to save his face from becoming an elongated smear on the pavement. It did not, however, break the clutch gripping his scalp.

Thrusting his warhammer into the ground as a pivot, Warrior took advantage of the subsequent whirling motion to fling Archer in the direction of a nearby streetlamp. The post buckled and then snapped under the tremendous impact, and the Heroic Spirit's flight was only stopped by the steel grating and concrete wall directly behind it. His foe momentarily incapacitated, Illya's Champion moved in for the kill, only for the fake Saber to rush in from his rear to stop him.

"…d-don't…" — a downed Archer tried to warn, too late. With a slight adjustment of his footwork, a regular swing of Warrior's warhammer was readjusted into a full 180 degrees upswing, targeting her instead.

While she was able to block it just the same as their early exchange, the force behind the hit managed to knock the blonde swordswoman out of her feet this time around, catapulting her a couple of meters into the air. As she fell back down, and before she could recover from the staggering blow, the armor-clad giant followed it up with an overhead smack of his warhammer. His opponent was sent reeling towards the slope once more, and would've landed against its side with full force…

_*thwack*_

…hadn't Warrior rebounded her mid-flight, as though a baseball pitcher outspeeding and then batting his own fastball. Even more amusing than seeing the female Spirit convulsing in pain as the spiked head of his weapon was driven into her lower spine, was the cartoonish fashion with which she crashed into Archer, who had just gotten himself untangled from the cratered barricade.

"This isn't faring well." — over on the other side of the now shattered divide, Rin's Champion took a moment to mull over their current predicament, while the faker writhed on top of him, a bloody stain spreading over her rear midsection.

"… I don't understand… he did not possess such strength before..." — her legs barely functional, the small knight could only lift herself up by leaning on her invisible sword.

"Aye, before…" — duty-bound by chivalric pride, she was about to throw herself back into battle nonetheless, hadn't a prone Archer grabbed her wrist — "Which is why you mustn't meddle. I shall take him on henceforth."

"How do you intend to best him by yourself?" — she inquired, as he got stood back up to confront an approaching Warrior.

"I'll just have to, won't I? Gods help me." — the grim-faced Hero sighed as he marched past his ally.

"But-" — not sure what to make of that assertion, any objection the odd Soul had was made mute amid a guttural snarl, as the two man threw themselves at each other.

_*clang*_

Eerily taciturn in contrast, Archer began by hammering what remained of the concrete fence, which exploded into millions of tiny fragments. Though the indomitable maelstrom of debris did little to slow the blitzing Champion down, his perception of the battlefield became clouded as a result. This in turn allowed his adversary to steal the initiative, slipping past his guard whilst evading his delayed response with ease…

_*thwack*_

…scoring a clean hit just above the nape. Acting on instinct, Warrior was quick to strike back but, owing to his disorientation and position, his side swipe only managed to nick a few strands of auburn hair. Archer conversely struck home, first nailing him in the knee then taking advantage of his unbalance by grabbing him around the waist and executing a textbook back suplex. In part due to his massive size, Illya's Champion was fully buried from the hips up, only to be spat back out as Rin's leveraged the two protruding legs over his shoulders, tossing his foe in an overhead arch and face first into the road again.

His comeuppance came in the shape of a nose-cracking backhanding gauntlet across the face which, despite the damage inflicted, he was capable to grapple and reverse into a armlock. Planting his foot against the base of the antlered helm, he began to bend the elbow backwards with sickening gradualness, the applied pressure causing the bones to audibly fracture and pop out of place, until the joint was left in a near right angle. Warrior eventually powered through the submission hold, applying a single-handed choke and then side slamming Archer with the same wrong-angled limb against into the nearby sidewalk.

A sudden respite settled as both bloodied Champions stood back up at a sluggish pace, hers giving a swift jerk to snap his arm's joint back into place, before soon resuming hostilities.

Whereas Saber and Warrior had battled it out as two seasoned knights would, parrying blow per blow, with Archer the whole fight devolved to what resembled a barroom brawl, deprived of any finesse or polish. Aware perhaps that going toe-to-toe with the Heroic Spirit whose patron embodied the very concept of singles combat, as his partner had, was not a sound strategy, the latter opted for a different, more up-close approach. Making use of his smaller frame to maneuver around his larger peer, within a range where the warhammer couldn't be swung at him, while targeting the joints to wear the behemoth down.

Not that such strategy would work against _her_ Warrior, Illya rest assured, who has more than happy to indulge Archer's penchant for wrestling grapples and throws, overly macho fisticuffs, fits of rabid head-butting, and a one-time reciprocated hit to the groin.

"Such frigid eyes..." — Warrior took note as his and Archer's foreheads scraped each others', gaping flesh against beaten steel, their hands locked tight in a contest of raw strength, pushing — "Yes, I remember that look. A burgeoning fury trapped beneath a layer of ice. The same on Ned's face the rare occasion I was actually able to rile him up. So which of the Seven sent you? Care to tell me... Stark?"

 _Stark?_ It was a name the white-haired magus had heard countless times over the last couple of months, a constant glowing presence in her Champion's stories.

"Maiden…" — size and weight began to bear their sway, overpowering the smallest of the two men bit by bit, robbing his voice of volume.

"Her!?" — whose answer only further stoke the flames of the hulking Heroic Spirit — "Ain't it proper! Stark and Baratheon! The Maiden's wild direwolf and the Warrior's proud stag! Fire-forged brothers as they are! Thought I never imagined that there were any of Ned's blood roaming Firedaughter's wilds. Always about the North and its Old Ways that man's family has been."

"As I thought. That sigil on your chest…" — Stark's gaze fell unto the yellow tabard, ragged as the dented and cracked armor it covered as a result of his Transmutation magecraft — "You're Godsgrief's blood. Eh… fortune persists on being a shunning harlot."

"Aye. A true shame our Masters' quarrel lead us to where we stand. What a closing act it would be… What a spectacle to be sang for the ages!" — Illya's Champion blared — "The Warrior's and the Maiden's! The two of us dueling before the Seven themselves!".

"Before the Seven… the focking lot of them…" — an idea Archer found disconcertingly comical, snickering even as he was driven to one knee, his strength at its limit.

His expression turned sour however when he spotted a recuperated Saber rushing in to his aid, looking to strike at her adversary while his back was turned. Before she could act on it though, her partner drove the soles of his boots into Warrior's face, performing a handstand using their mutual hold, akin an Olympic gymnast. Taking advantage of the impulse provide by the frog kick, he thrust himself backwards…

_*clang*_

…hammering the soil once more as he landed some distance away. To the bafflement of the female knight, and the other two observing Masters, the writhing pavement did not lunge at Warrior, instead blocking her swinging sword's path while jostling her to the side, away from him.

"Archer, what're you-!?" — a question rolling through everyone else's minds no doubt.

"Lannie, you stubborn mule, I told you not to meddle!" — her ally berated with a calm fury, raising his voice without shouting — "He's my opponent, not ours!"

"Then why do you insist in meeting him in hand-to-hand combat when it is evident he has you physically bested? Only defeat will come of your self-sating conceit." — she retorted, failing to grasp the exact nuances of Archer's wording.

"This isn't a question of pride, he'll-!" — but if she's so willing to ignore his advice and jump back into action…

"Warrior! Disregard Archer for now! Focus on the faker!" — then who was Illya to deny her the satisfaction of dying by her Champion's hands.

"Do I have to, Your Grace?" — he grumbled — "Stark is much more fun."

"I don't care! Do as I say!" — she had to reiterate, unnecessarily as Saber, against her partner's sage warning, endeavored to one-up Warrior by taking the initiative…

_*clang*_

…to little avail. Rematerializing his Semblant Relic, Warrior matched her attack with an overarching swing, and soon their duel resumed were it had left off. And though she could walk again, it was plain to see, even for Illya's untrained eye, that Shirou's fake Champion hadn't fully recovered from her wounds, nor her mostly spent stamina. This time around she was struggling to keep up with the horned knight's blows, teetering on the defensive, with only some paltry attempts to put up some offence. It was only a matter of time…

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

…everyone present was conscious…

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

…before his warhammer connected with the decisive, killing blow.

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

"Archer!" — Rin yelled, urging her Champion to do something to prevent said outcome, while Shirou merely looked on with a delightful expression of impotence.

Stark stood by, paralyzed as her Onii-chan, cursing himself for not acting quick enough, a slight moment of hesitation as he tried to make her halt, all for naught. He knew she did not stand a chance in the long run, and he knew that intervening now would spell doom for both of them. Nor did he longer possess the conviction that he could defeat the Baratheon Champion by his lonesome. Powerful, yet so powerless. Torn between heart and reason. Humored beyond words, Illya that couldn't contain herself.

"Didn't you hear your Master? Aren't you going to help your ally? If you don't hurry, my Warrior is definitely going to kill her. Or are you hoping she'll soften him up for you perhaps…? No, if you're aware of his bloodline, you've figured that would be useless. Maybe you're just playing possum, waiting for him to thin out your competition… No, that can't be it either. I've already seen you two acting really friendly to one another, and you seem to care for her. So why…?" — she knew the reason well enough, but it was much more fun to taunt him, to goad him into action.

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

"Why aren't you helping her? Have you given up already, lost hope? She hasn't. Hers is a pride that will keep her from withdrawing. And even if you somehow knocked some sense into her, I can simply have Warrior attack your Masters, compelling either of you to defend them. So don't think you can flee either." — a vetted interest in the faker's well-being, his mind dangling over the edge, the Einzbern magus just need a little push and her victory would be made certain.

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

"Maybe I'll have Warrior spare her life. He keeps on hassling me about his lust being long since satiated, so maybe he can make use of her. Oh, and Rin too, since she was so willing as to team up with Onii-Chan. Of course, I'll dispose of them both at any rate, once he's grows bored."

_*clank*_

_*clank*_

_*thwack*_

"GAH!" — sparks flew as the rough steel of Warrior's warhammer connected with the luster of Saber's golden arm.

"See!? She's almost done for… and you're just going to stand there and allow it to come to pass!? What lousy sort of Hero are you!? How can you live with yourself!?"

It wouldn't be long. _He has to hurry and save her now._

"Knowing you did nothing but left them to die-!"

"And were I to kill you first…?"

Seven words.

"…I could do that, could I not?"

And seven more, spoken hushed, was all it took to quell her haughty provocation, to cast a curse upon her world, freezing it in a instant. Vanishing from plain sight within a blink, Archer's chilly presence manifested itself once more a few inches shy from Illya. The small homunculus found herself no longer capable of drawing air into her lungs as the atmosphere stood wholly listless, solid as if her body was trapped inside a glacier. A jarring reminder to when she had summoned her own Champion those months back.

"Since the very start in truth."

The feeling of being numbed and naked before an all-consuming tempest, a whiteout blizzard.

"I could've turn the very earth you stand on into a dozen impaling spears… or have it just swallow you whole, into whatever hell exists in this world. The pebbles that litter it into bullets. The trees that surround you into grave markers. The glass lamps explode into thousands of splinters. The steel railing you grasp into a constricting Dornish water snake. The underground pipes around the hill into a water cutter. The cables running overhead into a hangman's noose. Many a possibility…"

She felt her heat being sapped through the frostbiting clasp on her shoulder.

"Now… something simpler mayhap. Snap your neck in twain, crush your skull, tear out your heart… maybe cause all these magic circuits to combust. An interesting sight it'd be."

Even she couldn't turn her head to the side, she could still somehow peer straight into his penetrating gaze. Two bright blue stars robbing the night of the little color it had.

"Had I any modicum of sense in me, the instant you revealed yourself it should've been your last. And were any of them to perish before I do, over this lapse of mine… none of it would be quick or painless, I can ensure."

Cold mechanical words, devoid of hate or anger. Simply stating a matter of fact.

"But I feel inclined as to purport myself an honor-bound fool…" — he declared, melting away the gelid tension, as snow under a summer sun — "Harming little girls, wicked as they may be, is of no interest to me."

As time seemed to resume its scheduled course, the Einzbern magus spotted Warrior, who had no doubt sensed her stifling dread, racing to her aid, with the false Saber hot in his heels.

"Should you wish to live till to see the morrow, you best fall back." — Archer counseled, in spite of their status as enemies, letting her go with a gentle push aside — "Yours is a headache I've deal with still."

A gush of air, brought about by an enormous a ignition of prana, knocked her further back, as Stark prepared to recommence his bout with the advancing Champion. It was likely this was his intent all along, it occurred to Illya, to draw attention back to himself by posing an imminent threat to his Master's life. Yet, bluff or not, for such a laidback looking man to utterly deprive his speech of soul…

_*CLANG*_

Amidst a blue torch of magical energy, Archer drove his Semblant Relic straight down with yet unseen vigor, planting it upright while gripping its handle with both hands.

The earth under his and Illya's feet convulsed as a response, making the latter lose her balance, as though they were atop the belly of a colossal beast being roused from its slumber.

With an ear-splitting rumble, a veritable tsunami of mud was belched out of the incline, right as Warrior had began to climb it to reach the two of them. Likely forewarned by her instinct, his pursuer had preemptively given up her chase, and gotten herself well away from the path of the incoming landslide.

Her Champion, conversely, could not hope to avoid it, being ran over and hurled back by the brown torrent spewing forth like water out of a riot hose. The amount of earth moved by the mucky flood was such that Illya felt the soil beneath her feet deflating, as if the whole hillside had turned into an untied balloon. Using his weapon as a anchor, Warrior managed to fasten then hoist himself back up. Slowly, step-by-step, he began to drag himself forward, against the chest-high deluge, towards his adversary.

_*CLANG*_

That with another strike, once more transmuted the terrain. A prana-laced shockwave congealed the liquid clay into a viscous substance, akin glue, binding his movements as it became plastered all over him. Yet, unabated, Warrior continued to lurch onward, a famished dog not about to let a leash keep him from his repast. But neither was Archer intent on letting him…

_*clang*_

From center, back and sides multiple stony spears shot up from the submerged road, skewering Illya's Champion through the many fractures in his armor.

But he thrust forward still…

_*clang*_

Also bursting forth from the sludge, coiling metallic pipes ensnared him, as to further restrict his motion, their tips shooting high pressure jets of water turning red as they punctured increscent holes in his joints, chest, neck and skull.

But he carried forth still…

_*clang*_

Rock, wood and glass showered onto him from all directions, jagged shards sinking into exposed flesh, causing more crimson to pour out of his helm's opening as his face, his eyes were left tattered shreds.

But he weathered on still…

_*clang*_

Like leeches, black overhead cables attached themselves to the freshly opened wounds, their copper wiring innards burrowing under his skin, linking themselves to his nerves to then fry them with high jolts of electricity.

But he powered through still…

_*clang*_

Before Illya's eyes, her Champion was being torn apart piecemeal, much in the same manner of the opposing Heroic Spirit's threats levied against the homunculus. Archer, perhaps, was not a wholly inappropriate moniker for Rin's Champion. Keeping a steady barrage of attacks, swamping his foe as to deny him a chance to close the distance between them.

But he drew near still…

_*clang*_

No matter what his opponent did, whatever torturous chains he shackled him with, onwards he pressed.

_*clang*_

_**Ours is the Fury.** _ _Even the Gods yield before us._

The words of his House, his Bloodline Relic.

So illustrious was the lineage of great families of Westeros, the very blood that poured out of Warrior in large streams prized as any legendary weapon, that they constituted a Semblant Relic, a Noble Phantasm, in their own right. And as Durran warred the Gods for the one he loved and won, so too were his descendants imbued with that same irresistible determination.

No fatigue, no injury, no pain would ever hinder him. He could get his limbs cut off, his eyes gouged out, his skin burn to a crisp, his flesh skewered, every bone in his body shattered, every muscle lacerated, his psyche ravaged... It did not matter. As long as he lived, Warrior would persevere as if unscathed. Anything short of a killing blow was useless…

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_Useless!_

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_*clang*_

_Useless! Useless! Useless! Useless! Useless! Useless! Useless!_

Illya cheered on, as Archer's rhythm became more frantic with each of hers step. At last realizing that trying to stem his inertia was a fruitless endeavor, and no doubt aware that merely wounding Warrior wouldn't be enough, the Northerner upped his game and went fully on the offensive.

_*CLANG*_

At his command, several mud tendrils sprouted out from the base of the hill, towering several dozen meters into the air. From their tips, rows of bladed stone emerged, as if each were a viper baring their fangs, poised for the kill. At Stark's beck and call, the barbed whips coiled and lurched at Warrior, as to impale him or crush him under their immense mass.

_*THWACK*_

Yet, despite the many cumbersome constraints, Warrior was still able to swat Archer's constructs away, spattering over nearly all of them in a single ear-popping swing. Rin's Champion was swift to erect more and, revising his strategy, send them at his armored counterpart one at a turn, in lightning fast succession.

_*clang*_

_*thwack*_

_*clang*_

_*thwack*_

_*clang*_

So began a savage symphony, a furious percussion of metal against earth. And though their weapons did not once clash during the composition, each drumming beat bore the full weight of their killing intent. Each swung as if their steel was to meet.

_*clang*_

_*thwack*_

_*clang*_

_*thwack*_

_*clang*_

On a constant swivel around the mud trap holding him down, Warrior sometimes had to resort to both his mailed fists and horned helm to face the uninterrupted onslaught bearing down on him from multiple angles. And for every tendril he managed to wipe out, another layer of restricting slime was splattered on top of him, further hampering his already restrained motions. All for Archer to replace them twofold.

_*clang*_

_*thwack*_

_*clang*_

_*thwack*_

_*clang*_

A larger-than-life champion battling an ever-growing, polycephalous monstrosity. As fate's or the Gods' humor would have it, though not her Servant ordained, Warrior's struggle was the facsimile image of Heracles battling the Lernaean Hydra.

And just like in myth, one only needed to sever the main head to slay the beast.

_~swoosh~_

Just as he was being overwhelmed by the sheer number of serpentine lashes, in a last ditch gamble, Warrior hurled his warhammer as a javelin, using Illya's sight to guide his hand. Archer, wholly absorbed by his composition, reacted too late to dodge, only managing to avoid getting transfixed through the heart by grasping the projectile's pole. The force behind the throw was nonetheless such that the Champion was sent careening back-first several feet up the sagging slope.

As the concerto came to a close for a lack of a maestro, Saber once more rushed in to secure the kill, hoping to capitalize on a stationary and disarmed opponent. Pouncing upon the larger combatant as if she was a cat, the false Servant dispelled the windy sheath covering her, now visible, beaming golden sword for added impetus. Warrior met the edge of her downward blade with an uppercutting gauntlet, which got most of his arm neatly cleaved lengthwise as a result. This did not, however, prevent the bisected halves of his fist from smacking the female knight across the face, propelling her back to where the other two Masters watched on, incredulous.

"Just what kind of monster is he?" — Rin groaned as Shirou, ever the gallant do-gooder, was quick to hurry to his downed partner's side — "To retain such strength, even after sustaining all those grievous wounds."

Irked by the deteriorating turn of events, Warrior's adamant withstanding of the two Heroic Spirits' assault most of all, the Tohsaka magus elected to take matters into her own hands. Before any of her allies could do anything else, Rin charged headlong into the enemy Champion, who now busied himself with breaking free from his makeshift shackles.

"Tohsaka, wait-!" — the other Master was about to run in after her but Saber, even in her disorientated state, had the presence of mind to hold him back.

From the pocket of her coat, she first drew a handful of translucent red jewels, holding them between her fingers, then flinging the batch at Warrior, once in range. Suffused with her prana, the thrown gemstones embedded themselves unto his back, crackling with crimson energy before unleashing the Tohsaka family brand of magecraft upon the Champion. Already disfigured by the ruinous contend, the surrounding area was engulfed by a maelstrom of magical energy, equal in flair to instigator's aesthetic, blinding combatants and onlookers alike.

Dust and light soon settled, revealing a massive crater in the congealed river of mud Archer's magic had created earlier, going as deep as the substratum underneath the road's foundation. At its epicenter, Warrior stood inert, silent, his upper frame held upright by the impaling terracotta spears that were shielded from the blast. The rear plating of his armor had been fully shattered, leaving only scorched, creviced skin to bare and the air permeated with the distinct stench of charred gore. Blood streamed through most of the remaining grey steel in a manifold streaks, dripping and amassing in a large puddle forming around the base of the pit.

One would be forgiven to think her Champion was well and truly dead…

"Did I do it?" — Illya laughed — "Why are you so amused? Even if he's still lives, your Servant lays beaten nonetheless."

"Beaten?" — the supercilious snicker continued — "His body perhaps… but that's of little importance. What matters is that, thanks to you my dear Rin, our triumph is all but consummated."

"What are you talk ab-!?"

As if roused from a pleasant slumber, a grumbling Warrior stood up, cranking his neck and stretching out his arms. Looking no worse for wear, despite the visual incongruity of that statement, he directed his attention to the sorceress runt that had so brazenly struck him.

"Tohsaka, run!" — Shirou screamed at the top of his lungs, battling against Saber's grip.

Not that doing so would help her in any case.

"You can feel it too, don't you?" — her body frozen shut by fear, as Illya's Champion emerged out of the hole, the striking mutilations he endured heightening her terror — "He now sees you as another to cut down, just as Saber and Archer. Remember at the start, when you flaunted your numeric superiority. Derided my confidence for going to battle against two Champions at once. Tell me, did it ever cross your mind as to why I was so sure of myself… or did in your presumption simply assume I was some hubristic child? Did you not know, Rin…?"

"…?"

"The Warrior blesses his Champions with power equal to the number of foes they face at a time. You understand what that means, don't you?"

Oh, how she wished she had a means to capture the pricelessness stamped on each of their faces. The utter abject horror as the cogs inside their brains spun and grinded.

For a lack of a camera, Illya simply extended two of her fingers: a V for victory.

"That's right! Since he's now facing three opponents at once, that makes him thrice as strong! And inconsequential as you are to him, my Warrior is now effectively battling two Heroic Spirits with triple the power!"

Then another: a W for the win.

"It seems that, beyond Stark, none of you were aware of it, so I was betting on either one of you to jump into the fray. Though, truth be told, I _was_ beginning to worry your Archer might actually be able to kill him. Lucky for me, you timely intervention put my mind at ease… and made all of your deaths guaranteed."

"You…"

"Now then… Warrior! It's high time you end this! Finish them off!" — Illya blasted with all the authority she could muster.

"Aw… it's no fun if I can plow through them with ease, Your Grace." — only for Warrior to moan in protest.

"Just do it!" — she commanded once more, not about to let her moment of exultation be ruined by his petulant insubordination.

As she did, near the crest of the incline, Archer, who had gotten himself back up in the meantime, was about to recommence his gravelly concert. Instead, it was his head that came crashing down against the earth, as Warrior leapt the interim distance before he could insomuch as drive his hammer down, fully burying his skull. Not wasting time, he used the momentum of the landfall to bounce himself back down the hill, at his other challenger, keeping the vice grip on Stark locked tight.

The false Servant could only to shove her Master out of harm's way before he landed a stone throw's away from her, breaking Archer's back in the process by positioning him in a torture rack whilst midair. Acting on instinct, both Heroic Spirits took swipes at one another, Shirou's with her invisible sword while Illya's, who had forgotten to pick up his warhammer, grabbed Rin's by the leg and swung him like a meat club. Not wishing to cut her partner in two by parrying it, Saber was forced to suffer the blow directly.

For reasons only known to the confines of his brutish intellect, Warrior followed with up by repeatedly clobbering the felled faker as she laid on the ground, still using her comrade as an impromptu bat. Walloping her…

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

…again…

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

…and again…

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

…and again…

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

_*whap*_

…and again, over a dozen times Illya counted, much to her uncontained delight, as she witnessed the preposterously comical routine.

"It's over!" — the Einzbern magus proclaimed, as her Champion hoisted Archer by his lower limb and Saber by clutching her neck.

Both Heroic Spirits were at his complete mercy. Thoroughly bested, humiliated. Mere limp trophies held aloft after a long arduous battle. All that was left was for him to do was snuff out what little life remained in their broken frames. Which he did…

…not do, gently setting them both down instead.

_What?_

Warrior then walked away without hurry, moseying towards his discarded Semblant Relic while the two other Heroic Spirits recomposed themselves.

_WHAT!?_

"Warrior! What in the Gods' name do you think you are doing!?" — beside herself with ire, Illya nearly fell over the twisted metal grading — "Finish them off!"

"It's best not, Your Grace." — Warrior replied, mellow by contrast.

"Why the hell not!?"

"One should know when to strike down an adversary…" — he admonished, dislodging his warhammer from the ground where it had skidded to — "…and when to help them back to their feet, as an ally."

"Ally!?" — of all the harebrained ideas he could've cock up — "Who told you anything about forming alliances! And what makes you think I want _them_ as my allies!?"

"Because, Your Grace… to leave them without an opponent to face would be a terrible unfairness." — as Illya was about to ask what exactly he meant by that…

"Seven Andal Hells! The fates really took a shine focking with us…!" — she got cut off by Archer's sudden alarm.

"Three…?" — and though far more composed, Saber appeared equally as startled.

"So why don't you shites come down here and introduce yourselves proper!" — for reasons that escaped her, the homunculus became the target of everyone's attention.

 _Why is everyone…?_ To realize that, judging by the cadent footsteps, they were rather fixating on what was behind her. Then came the voices…

"Milady…" — the first, stern and commanding, brimming with undisputed authority.

"Milady..." — the second, gruff and reserved, the echo of a sardonic soul.

"Milady…" — and the third, charming and courtly, a picture-perfect of chivalry.

Three Champions passed by Illya. Three knights clad in nothing but white.

"Kingsguard… and nay a king in sight." — Archer observed with a dry chortle, half parts resigned, half parts unhinged — "That cheating upright prick!"

"Kingsguard?"

"Remember our talk on whoever the Father's chosen is would be the Saber of this War, Lannie?" — he nodded in the direction of the trio — "That there is three of them…"

"Them!?" — all but the five Champions sounded off in shock.

"Three of them, three of us! Isn't it all a glorious occurrence!?" — and, per usual, only Warrior seemed excited by the prospect of having to face the newcomers.

"Truly it is." — the largest, and the unmistakable leader, of the white knights spoke — "Our Lord, righteous and inexorable, not only has granted us the chance to partake in this most holy rite, but to bring you to justice for your grave crimes as well… Usurper."

"For such task to fall upon us…" — a gruff voice, muffled under a emblazoned helmet, added — "Those that could not stand by the Prince's side…"

"Our Lord is indeed just. To grant us this opportunity. To allow us to seek redemption for our past failings." — the last of them extolled, a radiant greatsword brought forth by a gust of wind, a pale white light rivaling Saber's — "And now it begins…"

/\

\/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Fate/Long Night proudly presents: ArthurBowl. Get hyped!
> 
> (Tickets sold at my non-existent Patreon.)
> 
> Bloody hell… it's been seven, seven long agonizing months since I released the last chapter of the fic. I sincerely apologize to anyone who's been kept waiting for all this time, but real-life matters had to take a precedence. Still, I was hoping to post this chapter on the first year anniversary of the fic, back in September, but the last battle scene took way longer to write than what I was predicting. And unfortunately, this time around, I can't promise three new Servants for the next chapter.
> 
> But good news everyone! The main bulk of work for my master's thesis is well and done, meaning I've a ton more free time in hand, which will hopefully translate in shorter intervals between chapters from now on. At least until I can find a job.
> 
> Besides FLN, I'll also be working on my other GATE fic (check it out if you haven't), mainly to blow off some steam, and maybe do that rewrite of Advancing Kaiju I've been putting off for a while.
> 
> BTW, Illya's words mean 'By victory anointed', or at least they're suppose to. If anyone with a better comprehension of the German language is reading this, any provided criticism would be deeply appreciated.
> 
> As always, leave a review if you're enjoying (or hating) the story so far, or PM me if you have any question or doubt you'd like answered. I'll do my best to respond to every piece of feedback I receive.
> 
> Finally, and to reiterate, I would like to apologize for the unscheduled hiatus, and here's hoping that this chapter somewhat made up for it.
> 
> Happy readings.


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